


Rock You Like a Hurricanrana

by Jennicide (yenyen)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Marvel Cameos I Know Hardly Anything About and Have No Business Writing, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Wrestling, Any Version!Peter Parker, Bad Lyric References Everywhere, Best Wingwoman Gwen, Bisexual Peter Parker, Blind Al - Freeform, Bottom Wade Wilson, Brief Mention of Baby Mama Carmalita, Brief Mention of Ellie, Budding Romance, Comic!Wade Wilson, Daddy Kink, Don't Worry - I Translated It, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Felicia Still Antagonizes Peter but Off-Screen, Hah - That's New, Happy Ending, Here There Be Spanish, Hispanic Wade Wilson, Including These Tags, Jack Hammer - Freeform, Let's Wrassle, M/M, Masked Wrestlers, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Notice me senpai, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Sane Wade Wilson, Scarred Wade Wilson, Sexual Content, Sexually Unsure Peter, Sexy Times Once, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Spideypool Big Bang 2019, That Doesn't Mean He's a Virgin Though, Three Times a Lady, Top Peter Parker, Top Peter Parker/Bottom Wade Wilson, Wade Has a Bad Guy Moment, Weasel - Freeform, Whoops Tony Stark Has to Be the Other Bad Guy, aunt may - Freeform, if you squint maybe, including the title, lucha libre - Freeform, slight angst, twice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-24 23:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 111,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yenyen/pseuds/Jennicide
Summary: Peter thinks he’s finally made it now that his masked persona, Spider-Man, has been offered a full-time contract with one of the largest wrestling companies in the United States. He’s spent years training for this moment but nothing could have ever prepared him for getting into the ring with Pileta de Muerto, the hottest heel in professional wrestling entertainment, on the night of his debut. And to make matters worse, their first meeting was a complete disaster. One of his biggest idols probably (definitely) hates him, but he’ll manage somehow because they've got a show to do and everything in wrestling is scripted anyway… until it isn't.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 65
Kudos: 142
Collections: Spideypool Big Bang - The 2019 Collection





	1. Chokeslam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chokeslam is a body slam where a wrestler grasps their opponent by the neck, lifts them up, and then slams them down onto the mat hard, on their back. Famous wrestlers to use this move as a finisher are The Undertaker and Kane.

* * *

  
“Are you sure about this Peter?”

“I'm sure, Aunt May.”

May must have asked him the same question at least five times this morning before they had even gotten in the car and that was in addition to all the other times she’d asked him some other variant of it the night before. This was the first time Peter was going to be separated from her since she and his Uncle Ben had officially adopted him at the age of six. Although he understood that it might be difficult for a parent or parental figure to watch their child grow up, that knowledge didn’t make this transition any easier for him.

When Mr. Otto, Peter’s then talent manager, had submitted a tape on his behalf to a Modern Marvels of Wrestling scout back in April, Peter never expected anything to come from it. Hundreds of would-be semi-pros wanted a contract with that company. The odds of him being selected were as likely as him winning the lottery, and Peter never bought tickets for that.

So when an agent contacted him three weeks later, offering up a chance for him to become a regular on one of their evening shows, wrestling with other professionals, Peter couldn’t believe his luck. The signing bonus alone was more than he’d ever managed to earn in half a year of full-time wrestling and part-time side hustles. His aunt had nearly fainted when he’d shown her a copy of the digital contract he was expected to sign if he accepted the offer.

It was a no-brainer decision for the both of them, and his best opportunity to raise his family up from the borderline poverty they had lived in most of their lives. Most importantly of all, it was the impossible dream that Peter had been steadily working towards with his aunt’s support in the past couple years. With this contract and his move away from New York, a new chapter in his life could finally begin, not just for him and Aunt May, but for Spider-Man as well.

It would start the moment he set foot on that plane, if he could only get out of the car.

They had driven around the airport’s departure lanes twice before May flipped on the emergency blinkers and pulled to a stop in front of his airline’s terminal. She unclipped her seatbelt and leaned over to gather her nephew up in a hug; the strength she used to crush him to her chest almost painful.

“Oh, Peter, you know I love you so much, and of course you know I want you to chase after your dreams, but did you really have to grow up so fast?”

He could hear the wavering in her voice as she choked up with emotion. His own hands tightened their hold on her too. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement but tried not to let the approach of the airport security guard break the spell of what might be one of their last moments together for the rest of the year.

There was a loud tapping on the passenger’s side window.

Too late.

“Get out here or move along, no parking in this area,” the cranky looking guard told them unkindly.

Out of concern for his aunt receiving an unnecessary moving violation, Peter released his hold on her and tried not to look directly at her face. What he might find there would only grow more doubt in him, and he needed to be brave. They both got out of the car and walked around to the trunk that May had popped open before shutting her car door.

She assisted Peter as he grabbed his meager worldly possessions out the back of her old run down coupe. They included one oversized black suitcase with a broken wheel that he’d inherited from his deceased uncle; an overstuffed gym duffle full to bursting that he’d gotten for signing up to Kings of Queens, his training academy; and an old high school backpack full of necessities in case his luggage failed to arrive with him at his destination.

He paused a second to balance his duffle on the suitcase and pulled his aunt in for one last hug so tight that her bones creaked. The whole thing lasted for all of ten seconds before she politely asked him to let her go.

Looking at her now, her eyes were wet with unshed tears. Aunt May had always tried her hardest to be strong for him, and for that, Peter was eternally grateful. Seeing her cry now would have made the decision to leave New York that much harder, and it was already hard enough.

Peter loved his aunt and was deeply indebted to her for all of the sacrifices she and his uncle had made to raise him. He wanted to go through with this because it was the only way he could ever possibly repay her for believing in him and for loving him, but mostly, he wanted to succeed because this was _his_ dream _._

If he could figure out a way to make this contract last, if he could make a real career out of wrestling, then neither of them would ever have to worry about finances again.

“You make sure you take care of yourself… eat right, sleep well, and call me, okay?”

Peter’s own eyes started to water at that, and he had to blink rapidly to disguise them.

“I will Aunt May, I promise.”

“Alright then,” she wheeled his luggage closer to him, straining a little from the effort. “You better get going before you miss your flight, and I get in trouble with the NYPD.”

They both laughed out loud even if neither of them was feeling particularly happy at that moment. Peter moved to the sidewalk as he watched his aunt climb back into her vehicle, noticing that she didn’t look back as she signaled and merged into the departure lanes.

He watched her disappear down the ramp and told himself that he wasn’t allowed to look back anymore either.

Checking in and getting through airport security was eventful, but taxing, as Peter had never flown anywhere before. He was somewhat pleased that at least he’d been able to check both heavier pieces of luggage before going through the carry-on screening process even if he was distinctly displeased to shell out an extra $25 to forcibly check his duffle bag. Who decided what was and was not a carry-on anyway? He readjusted his backpack and popped open his wallet to recount the remaining cash he had on hand.

There was just enough for a small coffee to tide him over in between the flight take off and landing. He got in line and waited for his turn to be served. While the line slowly trudged along, he reached into his backpack and pulled out his boarding pass to re-examine it.

The company had offered to reimburse for his airfare, only one-way of course, if he managed to stick it out to his debut. From there, a probationary period would be in effect, and if he could outlast that, he was golden. Opportunities like this didn’t come around often. He tightened his grip on the ticket and slipped it back into his bag for safekeeping.

Everything else about the flight went about as well as he’d been told it would - Aunt May had flown once before with Uncle Ben for their honeymoon. Even knowing what to expect, Peter may still have taken the pre-flight safety directions too seriously, startled at every ding in the cabin, and gotten overly giddy about run of the mill cheese crackers that the flight attendants offered him mid-flight. The fact that he’d been relegated to a middle seat hadn’t managed to dampen his excitement either.

When his plane finally touched down in Miami, Peter couldn’t get his seatbelt off fast enough. 

As he disembarked down the jetway, slowing ever so slightly as he turned his cell phone back on, he saw he’d received four messages since his departure from LaGuardia. The first was from Aunt May; a short and simple text with a message about missing him already followed by a few emojis of crying and faces kissing him hearts. Another was from the agent who’d initially reached out to him with the contract and information about the flight reimbursement policy once they’d finalized all of his formal paperwork. The last two messages, however, were from an unknown number Peter had never seen before. He flicked through them quickly, continuing down the walkway, and read the first message from a girl named Gwen.

She told him that she was his assigned agent from the company and that she couldn’t wait to finally meet him in person. The second message from her told him to be on the lookout for a crazy lady with bleach blonde hair waving a sign with his name on it down by the baggage claim. A few smiling emojis followed behind the text, and Peter nearly collided into another passenger disembarking in front of him because he was so wrapped up in the hype of all these new developments.

When he finally made it down to the baggage claim area, sure enough, there she was, waiting for him. Her bleached hair was shaved along one side of her head in an unusual version of a punk bob cut. He felt it suited her and found it rather endearing. She wore casual looking clothes, a zipped up white and black color blocked track jacket with splashes of hot pink on the sleeves and pockets that topped off her fitted cut-out mesh black leggings. On her feet were a pair of aqua colored slip-ons.

It was a strange combination of clothes for the warmer June weather in southern Florida, but she looked comfortable enough.

Peter waved to her as he quickly closed the distance between them. Summer was just starting in New York; temperatures ranged from the low seventies during the day to the mid-fifties or less at night. He’d packed all of his summer clothes from home but definitely felt like he was still underprepared for Miami weather.

Seeing Gwen like this though, he felt less self-conscious for having opted to wear his favorite red and white windbreaker over a thin navy cotton tee on top of a simple pair of frumpy grey sweatpants. His scuffed up red chucks were probably the only trendy thing on his person at that moment. Not the best first impression, sure, but none of that seemed to bother Gwen in the least as she rushed up to meet him now that they’d made direct eye contact.

Parker, her sign read in bold black sharpie; the letters outlined in a loopy bubble-like font. Clearly, she’d had too much free time waiting for him to arrive.

“You made it,” she squealed, folding up the sign and stashing it under her arm. “Not that we didn’t think you would, of course, but you never know! Flight trouble, cold feet, or whatever it’s called when people back out at the last second ‘cuz no one’s ever stood me up before, nuh-uh, nope, _not_ talking from experience… but how was everything for you? You’ve obviously made it in one piece. Flight couldn’t have been that bad, eh?” Then she turned her head to the side and whispered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, _have chill, Gwen._

Peter offered her an easy smile and readjusted the shoulder strap of his heavy backpack. It was probably not carry-on sized but when one was relocating to the other side of the country on a budget, one had to be as resourceful as possibly allowed by the Transportation Security Administration.

“Not bad,” he told her and meant it. “And thank you, I’m happy I made it too. I’ve never, uhm, flown before… so that was exciting and new… even if it was probably routine for most everyone else.”

Gwen nodded excitedly along with his words and sidestepped him as she beelined for the baggage carousel. “Oh-ho-ho you’re gonna be in for a treat for sure because catching flights weekly will be your new norm, provided that your debut goes well. I’m Gwen by the way,” she stuck a hand out for him to shake. Peter happily took it. She seemed… nice… and that was very reassuring considering that Peter had grown up in a suburb of New York; a city that was not known for raising kind people within its borders.

“Likewise. I’m Peter. Do you uh… know where I can pick up my checked lu-”

“Luggage?” she finished for him. “Oh yeah, definitely,” her finger pointed above him and there it was, an arrow denoting the baggage claim area. “This way!”

Peter had to readjust his backpack before trailing after her like a lost duckling. “How do you even know which one-”

“Over there,” she pointed in the direction of a large flat screen TV suspended from the ceiling that showed flight numbers and their corresponding carousels. His departure city was the third listed in big block letters.

“Huh,” he puzzled. “Makes sense.”

“You’re reeeeaaally new to this, huh?”

He felt his cheeks heat up, “That obvious?”

“Well,” Gwen reasoned, “you did sorta tell me this was your first time traveling.”

“I did, yeah,” he nodded. They waited for the buzzer to sound and for the metal slats of the electronic conveyor to begin delivering suitcases from the back.

“You got a lot more luggage?” she asked in a moderate tone, motioning at his overstuffed backpack. “‘Cuz I gotta tell ya champ, if it’s heavier than twenty-five pounds, I’m gonna have to tap, and you’re putting out for a luggage cart.”

Peter laughed and shook his head, no. Suitcases slowly began to creep out from the baggage unloading area and into their eager owners hands.

“Nah,” he bent over to set his bag down for a moment’s rest. “Just got two pieces, then I’m good to go.”

“Okay, good,” she nodded. They both waited in silence for his beat-up black suitcase with the broken wheel and his wrestling academy duffle to finally make their appearances on the carousel. Gwen offered to pull the rolling suitcase for him, a missing wheel clearly not a deterrent for her, but Peter politely declined and followed after her towards the parking garage.

As they walked, she told him a little bit about where he would be staying and when they would be meeting with the higher-ups to discuss his big TV debut. She gushed that she had watched the audition tape his manager had sent in and was very impressed with some of the moves he’d showcased. Gwen also mentioned that she really liked the idea of his masked persona - spiders were so cute and underappreciated! Peter felt his cheeks burn at the praise from such a pretty girl.

Spiders, and Spider-Man for that matter, were most certainly not cute. Her flattery, however sweet, was but another series of compliments he didn’t know how to respond to, so instead, he said nothing.

Gwen led them to a parked white four door sedan. Like Aunt May’s old beater, her car had seen better days, too.

“It’s not much,” [ she slapped her hand down on the hood](https://i.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/mobile/000/026/561/car.jpg) and beat him to the punch before he could comment on the state of it, “but this baby gets me around from point A to point B, and that’s really all anyone needs, right?”

Peter nodded, not really in a position to judge.

The trip to the new recruits accommodations was a quick one. Modern Marvels’ accountants had decided it would be in their best financial interest to cut costs and keep those on probation housed in lower cost extended stay motel rooms in a less ritzy part of town. Gwen gave him the keycard to his place and a brief description of where to find his room’s location. She then promised to return later in the evening to take him out for dinner and tell him about a few of the other wrestlers he’d be getting more familiar with over time. His debut opponent was still undecided, so she couldn’t give him any more information about that for now. Either way, he was grateful when he waved her off as she pulled out of the parking lot.

He clutched the plastic key in his hand and proceeded to drag his luggage up three flights of concrete steps before finding and attempting to unlock room 311. The door required a bit of finesse to work open, but it was no worse than his aunt’s janky apartment door had been back in New York.

The space inside this place though… Peter set all of his bags down to really take a moment and appreciate his new surroundings. The room itself wasn’t anything to write home about, but he would still snap a couple pictures of it and maybe video call Aunt May for a tour later.

His room appeared to be the same size as a standard one bedroom apartment including a small kitchenette with compact appliances and a dining ledge built into the wall. There were no stools, but Peter could take his meals standing if need be. Connected to his tiny living area was a doorway that presumably led to a bedroom and, hopefully, a bathroom.

Peter toed off his scuffed shoes and padded around the place in socks, wandering guilt-free within the confines of his new space. This was his now and already an improvement from the sometimes leaking, always cramped two bedroom apartment he’d been living in with his aunt.

Peter went back to grab his luggage and lugged all of it into the bedroom. Hopefully there’d be a dresser since the place looked move-in ready everywhere else. Once he’d gotten most of his stuff put away, it occurred to him that he should probably call his aunt and let her know he’d made it safely and in one piece.

He reached down into his pocket and fished out his cell phone. A typical twenty year old might have scorned the idea of checking in with an adult, but this was his Aunt May. She was more than just his parental figure… she was his only family member and his best friend. He thumbed through his contacts until he got to May and pressed call. The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

“Peter?” Her voice sounded raspy, and Peter had to take a deep breath before he choked up on his end. No looking back; no regrets, he told himself.

“Hey Aunt May,” he spoke quietly into the receiver, wishing that he could physically see her in front of him. He wished for it more than anything else in that moment.

“Oh my gosh, Peter. I didn’t… I didn’t think you’d call.” She burst into a fit of nervous giggles. Why would she think that? Did she think… had she thought he might never call her again? That just because she wasn’t there with him in person anymore, he’d somehow forget she existed? Peter bit his lip to distract himself from the wave of tangled emotions that were knotted up inside his chest.

Even if he had upended his whole life to chase after a dream clear across the country, she would never stop being important to him. “Of course I’d call,” he explained. “I don’t want you to worry too much about me.”

She laughed a little at that. “I got your text when you landed, but after an hour passed, I guess… I thought… no,” she cut herself off. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. We’re talking now, and I’m so happy to hear your voice.”

“Me too,” Peter whispered and then May’s voice started to wobble in a way that meant she was getting emotional too.

“Oh Peter,” she sighed, “this is definitely a lot harder knowing you won’t be coming back on a tour bus tonight or tomorrow.”

He nodded and raked a hand over the back of his neck. Going semi-pro two years ago was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He was traveling every weekend, around the East Coast and New England, mostly sharing a car with other wrestlers or catching tickets on a cheap interstate bus, but at least he’d been making some decent money and doing what he loved. The only part of that life he missed was knowing he’d always get to see his aunt at the end of it. Now, things would be different.

“We’re both a couple of silly sentimental folks, huh?” he heard her say over the phone. “You haven’t even been gone a full day, and I’m already getting weepy like I’ll never see or hear from you again. I know… I know that you’ve got to live your own life, and Peter, I’m _so_ happy for you… I just… I wish I could live it _with_ you.”

Peter found himself nodding along, listening to her talk. “I promise I’ll be home to visit as often as my scheduling allows.”

“Good, because I don’t particularly feel like catching a flight from New York to Miami just to see my favorite nephew.”

Now that had him chuckling. “I’m your _only_ nephew,” he reminded her.

“Even better then, my favorite _and_ my only nephew. Now then, enough of us getting mopey over what will be the first of many phone calls between us… how is your new place? Everything okay? Do I need to send you any money for a better one?”

Peter waved a hand back and forth while he spoke, forgetting that they weren’t in the same room and not one thousand plus miles apart. “It’s all right. I just got here, actually. About thirty minutes ago?”

“Did you take pictures of everything before you unpacked?”

“Haven’t… fully unpacked yet,” he told her, turning and looking at his opened luggage on the bed. It wasn’t a complete lie. There were still some clothes in one side of the large suitcase.

“Well, just make sure you take pictures to-”

“To document any damages that existed before I settled in so they can’t charge me for ‘em, yes Aunt May, I know.”

“No,” she dragged out the word, reprimanding him in a kind tone. “You should take pictures so that you can send them to me and _then_ keep them as photographic evidence that you didn’t trash the place after you moved in.”

Peter snorted at that. “You sure you still remember how to open pictures on your phone?”

He heard his aunt mock gasp on the other end of the line. “I don’t believe… I’m your aunt, Peter, not your grandma.”

They both laughed at that, and it felt good to see firsthand that the increase in distance hadn’t managed to alter their relationship in the slightest. Peter told her about his flight and about Gwen while his aunt told him how her afternoon had gone without him in the house. They talked for more than half an hour, but time was a relative thing and neither of them would rather have spent theirs with anyone else.

“I’m going to let you go now, Peter.” He heard her sigh gently before she spoke again. “I’m going to miss you, but I know this is important for you. Just… don’t be a stranger, all right? I’m always going to be here cheering for you, your biggest fan.”

“I know Aunt May. Thank you.”

“No, Peter,” she soothed him. “This day was always coming for me. Even baby birds grow up and need to leave the nest someday.”

“Same with spiders?” he joked, feeling his eyes start to water at the corners again.

“Why yes, Peter, even spiders… I think?”

They laughed again.

“I love you very much, Peter.”

His chest tightened painfully. After Uncle Ben had passed, they’d gotten more into the habit of saying they loved one another. Average people might shy away from the L word, but they had learned it was important to convey it as often as possible because you never when you’d stop getting the chance to.

“I love you too, Aunt May.”

“Make sure you call again soon, okay?”

“I promise,” he told her and wished her a good rest of her day before he heard the phone hang up on her end. His eyes were still a little bit rheumy, and he swiped at them before tucking his phone back into his pocket. Now it was time to finish unpacking and maybe take a nice hot shower.

He figured Gwen deserved to see him in something other than his casual loungewear since they were going to be working together for the foreseeable future.  
  


* * *

  
Six o’clock came faster than he thought it would, but his flight arriving in the afternoon probably had something more to do with it than he realized. He’d just finished slipping his arms into one of the nicer button-ups Aunt May had gifted him last Christmas when his phone went off. It was, of course, Gwen. She was texting to ask if he was ready to go out and get something to eat.

 _Starving,_ he typed back and reached over to the dresser to pocket his skinny leather wallet. There were a couple hundred dollar bills or so hidden inside his backpack’s zipped inner lining. No need for that yet, he figured, confident that a single twenty dollar bill would suffice paying for his dinner. He’d learned how to live on spending less than that in a single day a long time ago. Even if he was making more money now, he still hoped that Gwen wouldn’t be taking them someplace expensive.

Lucky for him, cheap fast food was her poison of choice, and they laughed like old friends as they carried their trays to an empty booth near the back.

“I figured you should get your last _bad for you_ meal in while you still can.” She smirked at him before taking a seat at the hard plastic table. “The training regime they’re gonna put you on will be a little bit stricter than you may be used to, but it’s in your contract that you need to meet certain weight and appearance requirements every couple weeks at weigh in,” she explained. Peter slowly unwrapped his double cheeseburger and nodded to show he was listening.

“Geez, but I bet that’ll be easy for you, huh? You look like you’re already in pretty good shape as it is,” she remarked while dunking a french fry into a little paper cup of ketchup.

Peter shrugged and went to take a big bite of his burger. He’d skipped lunch before his flight due to a combination of nerves, excitement, and fear from traveling such a great distance in a single day. Those complimentary in-flight cheese crackers from earlier barely counted as a meal either. And sure, he could have wandered out to the closest convenience store and picked up some snacks after he’d settled into his new accommodations, but he’d been too anxious to head out alone without Gwen.

It was strange really, feeling so apprehensive like this. He’d never been bothered to go out by himself in New York proper before, even as a teen. Still, he thought as he continued to chew on his first bite, even if he was confident wandering out alone in New York, he’d lived there much longer than here. His family had resided in Queens for most of his life and hardly anything was surprising to him in the surrounding metropolitan areas. This, however, being in a whole new state and surrounded by unfamiliar landmarks and people, was totally different. He definitely wasn’t in Kansas, er, New York anymore, Toto. It was a lot scarier to think that, without Gwen to hold his hand, he’d be truly and utterly lost.

She must have sensed his unease because, without missing a beat, Gwen leaned over to place a finely manicured hand atop his own. His cheeseburger, only one bite in, rested thoughtlessly in his left hand.

“You nervous?”

Peter swallowed what he’d been chewing on, literally and metaphorically, and nodded.

“That’s okay,” Gwen told him, adding a little pat for extra reassurance. “We were all there too, at one point or another.”

Now that was interesting to note. Peter had been following Modern Marvels for years now, having been a huge fan of their storylines and wrestling cast since he was a teen, and he never recalled seeing Gwen’s face grace his TV screen.

He liked to think that he would have remembered her since her first impression on him had been so strong. There was something so disarming about the way she smiled at him, so caring and kind even though they were perfect strangers.

“You… wrestle?” he asked while setting his burger down on the tray, now forgotten. Gwen blinked back at him, a french fry halfway to her lips. She made a really strange expression, one he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Kinda?” She avoided elaborating further by stuffing her face to shut down the conversation before it could go any further. Peter took her answer for it was and stopped pressing. If she wanted to share the more intimate details of her personal life with him, then she would. He certainly wasn’t going to ruin this good thing they were starting to form between the two of them by being nosy. Better not to pry and seem overbearing when they were still firmly in the acquaintance stage, he decided.

Peter reached for his burger and resumed eating once more.

“But ya know,” she perked up again after she’d made it halfway through her french fries, “stuff about me aside, our real job now is to remain focused on you. Starting tomorrow you’re official newbie material. We’re gonna have to sit down and figure out a solid training regime for you and of course what style of wrestling you’re best suited for.”

Peter finished his previous bite and swallowed, was about to open his mouth to tell Gwen that he already knew all about his character and what Spider-Man was capable of, but she cut him off first.

“Slow down, hot stuff. I know you went to wrestling school like every other Joe Schmo does, and you were even a hit in the indie circuit, so you’re definitely good on the basics, but it’s _my_ job to help transition you outta the semi-pro leagues and into the big boy ones! We’re gonna have to work on modifying some of your best moves so that they represent your persona better and maybe even teach ya some new ones along the way.” She clarified before reaching down for her chicken nuggets and slathering those in just as much ketchup as her fries.

“But I thought you said you liked what you saw on my audition tape?”

“Oh,” she giggled, waving a nugget at his confused expression. “I totally did, but new recruits are a lot like uncut diamonds; every single one needs a bit of polishing to get refined. I bet that’s exactly why they teamed us up together - with my brains and your skills, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Peter chuckled and pointed in between the two of them, “You sure you don’t mean that the other way around? I’m pretty sure between the two of us, you’re the one with all the skill if you’re the coach.”

“Nah,” she smiled back, giving him a toothy grin full of promise. “What do you say future cruiserweight champion?”

Peter liked the sound of that. It stuck with him well after their meal, well after his goodnight call to Aunt May, and was the last thing he thought about as he drifted off to sleep in his new residence.  
  


* * *

  
The next morning, he awoke to a text from Gwen. Last night, they’d agree that she should take him on a tour of the company’s training facilities and that included a gym rented out solely for the use of their superstars. The same gyms _he_ would be using now. The thought of being in the same room, training with other famous wrestlers was as overwhelming as it was exciting.

Granted, Peter had only started seriously working out when he’d first joined the wrestling academy. Prior to that, he’d just been a scrawny, nerdy nobody in high school who the wrestling coach had taken sympathy on and allowed to train after school with his team. Peter wasn't allowed to compete because he wasn't officially registered with the school as a student athlete, that cost money his aunt didn't have, but the experience had been a good one regardless.

While there, he learned how to properly lock up and grapple training with the other boys. And although Peter wasn't the biggest or strongest kid of the bunch, he did have naturally quick reflexes and some above average flexibility on his side. All of those were attributes that had helped define his future persona, Spider-Man.

Though he was excited to get back in the gym, Peter hoped those weigh-ins and contractual requirements weren't expecting much more from him. Even after years of following a dedicated training regime, he hadn’t been able to do much more than add on a couple pounds of lean muscle. Peter just wasn’t genetically predisposed to get big. At least, that’s what Mr. Otto had said.

The good news for Peter was that, at least in the semi-pro leagues, his physical appearance wasn’t going to be an instant disqualifier for him. Wrestlers came in all shapes and sizes, and Peter was pretty average all around. He was proud of how he looked now, toned and fit with just the faintest of outlines defining his musculature.

Gwen had agreed to pick him up outside his motel room and cart him around town again, maybe even treat him to lunch, too, if he promised to behave. Of course, she’d also made sure to remind him that she was strictly doing this as his agent and not as his new mom. Eventually they’d be cutting the cord as Peter grew more comfortable and confident in the city, and he’d be expected to follow his training and practice schedules on his own.

She promised him that time would come soon, and Peter believed her.

They finally pulled up to the last gym a little before two. Gwen had instructed him to wear whatever athletic clothing he’d brought with because they were going to work on getting him set up with a new workout routine, and it started today. Peter had told her over dinner the night before that he was more of a long distance runner than a sprinter, which she had praised because they were both well aware that high stamina was the name of the game if you wanted staying power on the main rosters. Only the best fighters could fill a whole twenty minute block with non-stop action before they had to end a match due to fatigue.

When they went to check in at the entrance, a large burly-looking security guard was waiting for them. Gwen told Peter to hang back a second and reached into her jacket pocket, nearly identical to her zip-up from last night but with the colors in reverse.

She flashed a fancy looking badge at the man guarding the door and explained to him that Peter was a new hire who hadn’t received his badge yet. They were here to begin his training, and she promised to vouch for him if the guard would grant them entrance.

In the background of that conversation, Peter could faintly hear the clinking of weights being picked up and set down, and what sounded oddly like someone rapidly tapping on concrete flooring.

“No badge, no promises. He steps outta line once, and you’re both out,” the security guard explained like he was a bouncer at some ritzy club. In reality, that was kinda what this gym was, Peter thought.

“He’s cool,” Gwen turned to Peter and tipped her head in the direction beyond the guard. “Right, Peter?”

Peter nodded and tapped his right shoe against the entrance’s doormat awkwardly. He’d only brought two pairs of shoes with him on this trip, his every day sneakers and his more expensive wrestling shoes. He was currently wearing the latter, as Gwen had told him to be gym ready earlier that morning. The rest of his workout attire was just as frumpy looking as his travel outfit from the day before. He wore a pit-stained, nearly threadbare King of Queens academy t-shirt, that was a freebie from his school, complemented by another pair of well-worn black sweatpants. Not his most impressive professional look to be sure, but he’d anticipated that whatever Gwen had planned would likely be strenuous. There was no way he was willing to ruin his newer, nicer clothes before he knew what he was in for. Destroying the older ones first seemed like the right choice.

“Remember, _you’re_ responsible,” the big guy emphasized one last time before allowing them in with a thumb over his shoulder, pointing towards the gym proper. Gwen saluted him goofily, and Peter tried not to laugh out loud as she gestured him over so that she could finally begin his grand tour of the facility.

As they rounded the corner blocking off the main entrance from the open gym area, Peter caught sight of Kamala Khan, Miss Marvel herself, skipping rope at a steady pace on one side of the room. There were earbuds in her ears and bubblegum popping in her mouth to the rhythm of her jumps. She appeared totally unfazed by either Gwen or Peter staring and walking passed.

Peter knew a little bit about her, she was a newer superstar, similar to himself. She’d only just debuted a few months prior and already she looked at home, like she belonged here.

Across from her, he caught sight of Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, curling what appeared to be two fifty pound dumbbells in each hand. Peter felt his heart rate tick up; how was Kamala so unaffected by being this close to a legend!?

Peter did his best to reign in his giddy fanboy excitement.

Thankfully, Gwen was quick to redirect him. She must have noticed him staring too intently because she, none too politely, elbowed him in the side and shoved him over towards the locker rooms.

“I thought you said you were gonna behave?” she chided him while clicking her tongue.

“B-but! Wha-,” he struggled to lower his voice and hissed at her through his teeth, “That’s Steve Rogers over there! _The_ Steve Rogers!” It took way more effort to not point and freak out than Peter wanted to admit.

“Yuh-huh,” Gwen said, not sounding the least bit impressed at Peter’s big reveal. “And?”

“But,” he tried again, “it’s _STEVE ROGERS_!” Peter acted like repeating the name would change her opinion of how amazing this man was and make her realize how crazy it was that they were sharing the same space as him.

“Riiiiiight,” Gwen rolled her eyes and pointed toward the locker rooms one more time. “You’re gonna learn to get over that, methinks. You know, after a couple weeks, working with big names like him will be like going over to see your second favorite uncle. You’ll be excited to see him, sure, but then you’re gonna wonder why your mom keeps sending you over there to say _hi_ when you’d rather be doing something else.”

Peter gasped. “How dare!”

He shook his head at her resolutely. That was definitely never going to happen, he was certain of it. There would always be an insurmountable level of respect between him and the other MMW superstars. They were the architects of his own dream to professionally wrestle, and Peter hoped that never changed no matter how often he was slated to work together with them in the future.

Finally, conceding to Gwen’s pushy approach, Peter walked over to the locker room and half-listened to her tell him about the gym’s policies about claiming and keeping a locker. He would need to make sure he purchased a lock to protect any gear he chose to leave behind though most guys left their workout shoes and some shower gear in there. However, Gwen did admit that she’d never actually been in the men’s locker room, so she really had no idea what went on behind closed doors. At least the women’s locker rooms had been nice when she’d used them.

She mentioned this off-hand before leading them away from the doors.

Peter didn’t get a chance to read into her last statement as closely as he would have liked but continued to follow along after her while she pointed out the different sections of the gym. From free weights to machines, and even behind another wall where a practice ring was waiting, she told him that all of the equipment here was available to him any time he wanted to train.

A bearded guy in a gym brand shirt was tightening the ring’s turnbuckles with a modified pry bar as they advanced towards it.

“Hey Jason!” Gwen popped up on her tiptoes and waved at the attendant. He responded by looking over his shoulder and waving back at her. He seemed friendly enough and called out to ask if she needed to use the ring any time soon. Apparently, there was a reservation scheduled to check-in soon, so they were just going to have to wait if they wanted walk-in use.

“No need, catcha later!” Gwen said, reaching over to loop her arm in the crook of Peter’s elbow and tug him along to where some free standing equipment was housed. She stopped them in front of what appeared to be a pull-up bar with some sort of punching bag attached to the other half of it.

“Ah-hah,” she’d caught him staring again. “That’s to get rid of all the pent-up aggression some folks get after a practice bout. No one wants to take stuff personally, but it happens sometimes.”

That seemed… reasonable, he supposed. Peter turned his head to finally meet her gaze. 

“So…” he started.

“So…” she repeated like a mimic, an odd gleam taking up residence in her eyes.

“Know what you’re going to have me do first?” he ventured, eyeing the equipment closest to them warily. Truth be told, Peter had never actually thrown a real punch in his entire life, even though he had been the recipient of a few during his brief stint in high school.

Gwen just continued to leer up at him menacingly.

His initial hope, that she’d start him out with some stretching before moving him into weight lifting was fading fast. He knew she’d want to test his endurance, but what could she possibly have him do here?

She snickered at him with a particularly evil twinkle in her eye. The look was one that Peter would later learn to associate with mischief, but he was still too unfamiliar with her to realize what it was just yet. She pointed at the pull up bar in front of him and mimed the desired action she wished to see.

“Let’s see how many you can do, Spider-Man. I hear you’re a good climber.”  
  


* * *

  
Gwen put Peter through his paces from pull-ups to push-ups, free weights to the treadmill, and back down onto the mats. He was certain that she was trying to turn him into the world’s first ever human pretzel when she started pressing on his legs, all while rearranging his limbs, to show him novel ways to stay limber.

By the time she finished kicking his butt all over the gym, Peter couldn’t even be bothered to do much more than wave faintly at one of his greatest idols, Steve Rogers, who happened to be walking out of the locker room as Peter was entering it.

Gwen had told him he was downright roaring and demanded he at least rinse himself off before defiling the inside of her car with his sweaty funk. Peter was too tired to argue and promised to do anything she asked if she agreed to drive him back home instead of making him walk there by himself. His legs felt less like bone covered in muscle and skin and more like overcooked spaghetti noodles after the hellish physical punishments she’d subjected him to.

At least now, his new training regime was thoroughly outlined. Peter had been instructed to continue his usual morning runs as they would not only be beneficial to his cardio fitness but also help him grow more familiar with his new surroundings. Likewise, Gwen told him not to eat before a run so that he could keep his fasting state going for as long as possible.

Running would fill his steady state cardio requirement, but he’d also need to find some kind of high-intensity interval training like burpees or split jumps to go all out and really get his heart rate pounding. Peter had groaned at that part even if he knew she was right. The rest of his time at the gym should be spent on functional training, which could be completed using the free weights, doing squats or lunges, or even advanced yoga to help improve his overall coordination.

The only light at the end of today’s dark tunnel was that she had felt remorseful enough to officially treat him to dinner. A big salad was promised, which generally would have been a big foodie turn-off to someone like Peter, but free anything was always worth taking advantage of, regardless of whatever it was. Unless, of course, it was something like a free slap. Peter doubted that most people actually wanted freebies of that nature.

He staggered over to the nearest sink, turned the faucet on full blast, and ran his hands under cold water before splashing some up onto his overheated face. After a few minutes of wiping himself down, neck and forearms and anything else he could comfortably reach without getting undressed, Peter turned off the water and dried his hands off on his sweatpants before exiting the men’s locker room.

Gwen was patiently waiting for him outside with a smile and a cheeky grin as she pointed back towards the practice ring they’d passed by earlier that afternoon. Peter instantly felt his rabid inner fanboy strike again.

There in the ring was freaking Tony Stark, Modern Marvel’s self-proclaimed Iron Man, in sleek designer athletic wear chatting up his sometimes tag partner, sometimes rival, Bruce Banner, otherwise known as The Unstoppable Incredible Hulk. He was dressed in more generic looking gear, definitely not as flashy a guy as Stark.

Both men seemed to be working out a routine of sorts, and Peter felt every bit like a little kid who’d gotten to peek at the Christmas presents early. He turned to gush at Gwen, but she silenced him with a finger to her lips and mouthed the word, _Uncles._ They stumbled out of the gym to the sound of Gwen laughter as Space Cadet Peter continued to float, lost in the heavens of his own starstruck galaxy with no hope of coming back down any time soon.

Awful new training regime and sassy coach aside, this had easily been the best day of his life.  
  


* * *

  
The following day went much the same as the first. Gwen picked Peter up from his motel and transported his unwilling behind back to the gym, any complaints and new aches pointedly ignored. That was just weakness leaving the body, she told him as she continued to push him through sets of his new warm-up routine.

Yesterday had been a bit of an anomaly. Normally a trainer would recommend that their trainee perform a series of warm-ups before buckling down to tackle as rigorous a routine as Gwen had planned for Peter. So, either out of a sense of guilt or kindness, she made sure that the first thing they did today was warm-up properly.

Arm swings, shoulder rotations, hip extensions and rotations, squats, and jumping jacks were all Peter was allowed before she led him over to the practice ring in the back corner of the gym. Gwen had booked two full hours for Peter to throw himself around and show her his best moves in person.

Today’s goal was meant to be focused on taking all of his best moves to the next level and seeing what other opportunities Gwen could flesh out from his raw talent. He’d already told her a bit about his mongoose like reflexes and unusually high degree of flexibility. With that knowledge in mind, she wanted to focus on selling his jumps and dodges. Which, subsequently, also meant he’d really need to work on increasing his core strength to perform and make those dynamic Matrix-esque dips, dives, and back to feet springs really look effortless.

A half hour of pop-ups off the wrestling mat later, Peter’s abs were beginning to burn. Even if Gwen refused to let him call it quits there, she at least allowed him to switch his moves from handsprings off the mat to rebounds off the ropes and finally graduating to jumps off the turnbuckles.

Spider-Man had always been billed as a high-flyer, but most of his moves were as simple as generic [ sentons](https://youtu.be/skVqsX5Dnu8?t=93), or back splashes, which relied more on the pull of gravity to generate a half flip versus real muscle. Gwen cheekily told him that all of that was going to change.

“If you’re gonna come out with a name like Spider-Man, you better be prepared to perform some real high-risk, daredevil moves.”

Peter agreed whole-heartedly, but his wrestling school had discouraging their students to use any of the more dangerous high-flying maneuvers. Of course, none of that had ever stopped him and some of the other young guys at the academy from messing around and practicing an occasional moonsault or a 180 degree front flip off a rope onto a willing teammate, and it certainly hadn’t stopped him from adding a couple other moves into his repertoire once he’d turned semi-pro.

Next, she asked him to demonstrate his balance on the ropes. That was where his amazing reflexes and unfailing stability really shined. Gwen never actually got up into the ring with Peter, but she did make some interesting and novel attempts to see the results she was looking for. As he perched on the top rope of the practice ring, hands clutching the rope on either side of his body to help steady his weight, she reached up to try and trip him up the same way a scaling opponent might do as they naturally set up for a two person move.

She had a really hard time rattling him, but that was a good thing. Gwen made sure to praise him as he continued to hang on, both in a crouched and standing position.

“You ever watch lucha libre?” She turned to ask him later, during a quick break for water.

Peter had seen plenty of matches featuring wrestlers from Mexico before, but his first love would always be the American style of wrestling; it didn’t matter if he wasn’t suited to the brawler style himself. He’d learned that fact the hard way, getting laid out time and time again by his peers in high school and at the training academy back in New York.

To counter his smaller, slimmer disposition professionally, he’d opted to focus on learning more aerial moves over grappling and submission holds. At present, Spider-Man’s current repertoire was nowhere near as advanced as a luchador's, either due to a lack of training or exposure to the style in general.

“Course,” he told her as he took another long swig from his water bottle. “I’ve just never faced someone who was super proficient in it is all.”

“Who’s your favorite wrestler?” She asked him, sounding genuinely interested.

“Hmm…” Peter leaned back against the hardwood apron of the practice ring and looked up at the overhead lights thoughtfully while he considered his answer. “Well, I like a lot of wrestlers, so I guess the real question is who’s my favorite for each category of wrestling.”

“Brawler?”

“Toss up between Juggernaut and Thing.” He answered.

“High-flyer?”

“Gamora.” That was another no-brainer. He took another sip of water.

“Lucha?”

Peter sputtered a little bit around the mouthpiece of his water bottle. A slight flush crept up his cheeks, and he mumbled the letters P-D-M.

“OHMIGAWD, PETER, ARE YOU A PILETA FANBOY?” she accused, trying her best to stifle her laughter at his admission. Pileta de Meurto was another professional wrestler at MMW. At some point he and Peter would be crossing paths, and the idea of Peter geeking out in front of him the same way he had over Captain American and Iron Man had Gwen slapping her knee.

Peter felt his ears start to burn. She wasn’t wrong, per se, but he really wanted to look more like a professional and less like a starstruck pre-teen. He refused to let her get a rise out of him over this and continued sipping his water as a means to end the discussion.

Once her laughter had been contained and her voice returned to a more acceptable volume, she asked, “And what about pro-resu?”

“Was that even English?” Peter quipped, trying to seem combative in retaliation for his earlier embarrassment. It earned him a playful smack from Gwen.

She smiled and her eyes lit up in telltale mischief. “Oh, Peter,” she gazed back at him wistfully. “I know what you’ll be doing later tonight!” He swallowed the last of his water and slowly recapped the bottle. That same face from yesterday was back but this time, he knew to be wary of it.

The last half of their ring time was spent with Gwen encouraging Peter to perform all the flips and flops he knew off the turnbuckles. In doing so, she discovered he could manage a pretty clean Spanish fly and shooting star press off the middle and top ropes with little need for correction. The longer the acrobatics went on, the more Peter felt like a student enrolled in clown college rather than a professional wrestler.

Gwen continued to egg him on from outside the ring once she had come to the realization that he could handle any flip she demanded of him. Peter had always been light on his feet and what was gymnastics other than two-thirds strength paired with a dash of good balance and a lot of physics? Peter had always liked the theoretical concept portion of physics, even if he had never mastered enough higher level mathematics to prove them.

Jason mosied over a few minutes before their time was up to request they vacate the practice ring so that he could wipe the mat down for the next group who’d reserved it. Peter understood the man’s reasoning as soon as he looked down at himself. His training gear was completely soaked through. The plain white tee he’d worn was nearly translucent from sweat and even his sweatpants felt horribly uncomfortable, sticking to all the sweaty skin not covered by his underwear.

Two hours of ring time had seemed way too long when Gwen first told him what they’d be doing on the drive over, but now that they were finished, it was if the hours had melted into minutes while he’d been bouncing around all over the ring. Thankfully, he’d learned his lesson from the day before and packed an extra change of clothes in his duffle along with some small travel size toiletries and a towel for a quick post-workout shower. Stewing in his own sweat in the passenger seat of Gwen’s car for the ride home was not his idea of a good time.

Gwen held the bottom rope up for him as he climbed out of the ring and reached for his water bottle to drain the last of his refill. He quietly thanked her for all of her help as they both made their way over to the matted section of the gym to sit down to finish their session with some cool down yoga stretches Gwen had shown him the day before.

She wasn’t able to reach as far as he could, her hands coming to rest lightly on the tops of her shins while his extended far past the soles of his feet, but that didn’t stop her from encouraging him to continue pushing his body to its furthest limits and hold the stretches for as long as he could tolerate the burn.

The slow and easy methodology of this activity was nice compared to all of the high-energy movement she’d demanded of him earlier. Peter let himself be lulled by the calm instruction of her voice to breathe in and out at measured intervals. This was nice. He was glad she’d been assigned to him even if she really ran him ragged with her challenging new training regime.

But maybe there really was a secret method to her madness. Peter was so tired today that he didn’t even seem affected by Katherine Pryde, Kitty Pride in the ring, who was doing pilates only a few mats over from them. Perhaps Gwen had been right about the superstar fanboy in him eventually waning over time, or maybe Peter was just too exhausted to get properly worked up. Either way, it was a definite improvement compared to his distracted behavior from the day before.

After they finished their stretches, Peter hobbled over to the men’s locker room and threw himself bonelessly into the shower. His everything was starting to tighten up and ache, but the feeling was familiar and, therefore, good. It helped to remind him of why he was here in the first place and just how hard he was working to achieve his dreams.

These kinds of aches were bone-deep and hard-earned, like when he’d officially graduated from his wrestling academy; they made him feel proud of the results he’d cultivated through his unerring commitment. He just had to stick this out, too, to see the final result.

Just like last time, Gwen waited for him to finish up outside the locker room.

When she dropped him off later that afternoon, she made sure to assign him plenty of online video research homework. He was instructed to watch a handful of legendary Lucha Libre and their Japanese counterparts, Pro-Resu, matches before their next scheduled training session in two days.

She told him that it was common for most Modern Marvel wrestlers to train up to five days a week at the gyms, but she understood that his new regime might require him to take a few extra days rest before he adjusted to the rigorous pace. Once she knew he could cut the new routine, he’d be set free as a bird to manage himself and his time at the gym on his own.

He could finally recover tomorrow and the next day, and Peter intended to make the most of it as long as his body was willing to allow him out of bed after the beatdown it’d received over the past forty-eight hours.  
  


* * *

  
His Gwen-free reprieve didn’t even last twenty-four hours before she was calling Peter again on his cellphone.

She contacted him bright and early the following morning, a little before eight o'clock. He answered, still sleepy, half-expecting her to tell him that surprise, professional wrestlers didn’t get days off and yesterday’s promise was just a joke; they were still going to the gym today just because that’s how things were!

In preparation and defense of such a scenario, Peter had spent part of last night, in between completing his homework assignment and groaning about his new aches and pains, carefully crafting excuses that he might be able to use to get out of going back to the torture chamber for the third day in a row.

He did not, however, expect to answer his phone and hear his agent screeching in his ear like an insect had crawled up her back.

“OHMIGOD PEEEEEETER!” The pitch of her voice still vibrated in his skull even after he’d pulled the phone away from his ear. “THE EXECS JUST CALLED, AND I KNOW WHO’S GOING TO BE YOUR FIRST OPPONENT! Oh my God, oh my God, you’re never gonna believe, no, wait!” Her speech skipped all over the place as though even her words couldn’t sit still when she tried to tell him what she’d learned. “You probably will believe it, but you ought not to! This is the best news _ever,_ you’re gonna be amazing, I can’t even-”

“Gwen,” Peter hissed, twisting his body away from the speaker of his phone. His body ached in all sorts of unusual places, even in areas he didn’t know were possible to ache. “Who is it?”

“Peter,” he heard her take an exceptionally dramatic breath before continuing, “It’s _Pileta de Muerto_. The writers want you two facing off in two weeks on the Monday night show! Isn’t that the greatest!? Aren’t you stoked!?”

If he’d been more aware of himself, Peter might have winced when he subconsciously dropped his very expensive smartphone. But the news Gwen had just given him… his heart began to stutter in his chest.

It felt like fate, all the stars aligning just so for all of this to happen. Hadn’t they been discussing Pileta de Muerto yesterday?

He didn’t hear the phone clatter against the hardwood of his bedroom floor nor did he hear Gwen calling his name over and over again to draw him out of his current dazed stupor. She ended up having to hang up and dial him back so that they could finally get down to business on sorting out what his new signature moves would be. He was encouraged, for once, to pursue anything he felt comfortable enough to handle.

The first practice session with Pileta and his manager would be in less than a week at a different facility’s practice ring where both wrestlers and their agents would work together to devise the perfect debut match for Spider-Man. Peter could barely contain himself.

So much for that fanboy idolization ever wearing off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my SPBB artist, [Aredesification](https://twitter.com/aredesification), for her lovely artwork and beautiful designs of Wade and Peter's masks. And a very special thanks to my beta reader, [Pineau_noir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineau_noir/), and my cheer-readers, [Devral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devral/) and [Doctoring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctoring/), for all of their support. If not for all your encouragement and hype, I don't think I ever would have been able to complete a project so huge. You guys are my real MVPs. ♥


	2. Crossface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A crossface is a joint lock or grappling hold that involves the wrestler wrapping both hands around their opponent's face before pulling back to apply intense pressure on the neck and shoulder areas. This move can be performed several different ways but most variations usually involve trapping and holding one of the opponent's arms. Famous wrestlers to use this move as a finisher are Chris Benoit and Daniel Bryan.
> 
> Also, when you see _Spanish_ and want to know the translation, hover over the word(s) and wait for the translation to pop up. I don't know if html span codes show on mobile though... so apologies in advance if they don't.

* * *

  
The last few days leading up to his first meeting with Pileta de Muerto passed quickly. Excitement normally made time drag on forever; the week before his move had felt like an eternity for Peter when he was finalizing all of the details. Getting the plane ticket, packing his belongings, and settling his remaining affairs with Midtown Wrestling Alliance took him less time than he imagined it would and a majority of that week had been spent sitting around, twiddling his thumbs, and counting down the hours. 

Now he was staring down at the text from Gwen. In it, she was apologizing that she would be unable to join him for his first meet-up with Pileta and his agent, who she had jokingly referred to as Weasel.

Was that supposed to be a nickname or was that actually his name? Peter read the text a second time with increasing skepticism. Who would honestly name their son after such an odd looking mammal? But then again, someone had also [legally named their child Apple](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gwyneth_Paltrow) so…

Peter set about texting Gwen back. She had mentioned she wasn’t feeling well, and Peter could sympathize since he had pushed himself extra hard at the gym the day before. Gwen had seemed perfectly okay then, but it wasn’t his business to know why she had backed out of their meeting tonight last minute. It could just as easily have been a stomach bug or that time of the month. Either way, he didn’t plan on asking.

She’d gone the extra mile to include the address of the gym along with a link to an online map service that gave him detailed information with a bus schedule to the location. All of it was routed from his motel address. She had probably figured Peter needed all the help he could get since he’d been steadily relying on her for regular transport around the city up until now.

He sighed and tapped send on his reply and stood up to get dressed for the meeting. This involved him digging out a nicer than average set of athletic wear and his expensive red wrestling shoes. Both items got tossed into his travel duffle along with a stick of extra-strength deodorant.

Peter even took it upon himself to hop in the shower before leaving his motel room and making his way down the stairwell in search of the nearest bus stop. Bless smartphones and virtual real-time maps for their estimated arrival and departure times.

He made it to the bus stop a full ten minutes before he saw the bus make its appearance up the street. It screeched to a halt a few feet in front of his bench, and he waited for the air brakes to stop hissing before boarding.

He didn't know how much the fare might cost, so he'd grabbed all the quarters he had on hand and deposited the necessary $2.25 before wandering back towards the empty rear of the bus as it started up again. Peter took a window seat just past the middle elevation denoting the center of the vehicle.

There was a brief wave of nostalgia that washed over him as he looked out the window to watch the buildings pass by on unknown streets. Using public transit in New York had felt similar to this. When he was a teen, he had to learn how to navigate different sections of New York all by himself since he wanted to be able to get around without his aunt. Truthfully, it wasn’t that long ago, and he recalled that it was just as foreign and intimidating then as now.

The sun sink further in the west as he periodically kept track of his progress to the pinhead on his digitized map. ETA T-minus forty minutes the GPS read. His anxiety slowly began to increase the closer he got to his stop; this was really happening.

A minute before the map signaled his arrival, he reached up to tug on the stop request cord. The bus gradually slowed down, and Peter saw himself and his duffle off the bus through the rear exit. He’d successfully arrived thanks to Gwen’s directions and forethought to guide him.

Peter swiped the app off-screen before he stepped up to the unassuming-looking front door of a nondescript building with a flickering neon sign that read Al’s. This side of town had certainly seen better days, but there remained a special kind of dilapidated charm that reminded him vaguely of his own old neighborhood back in Queens.

Bright fluorescent lights greeted him as he stepped inside the gym. A tinny electronic bell chimed to announce his entry.

“‘Bout goddamn time,” he overheard someone yell from somewhere in the back.

“Just you?”

Peter whipped his head around and caught sight of a stern looking old woman with a set of black shades that hid her eyes. She was sitting behind a beat up looking reception desk, and her mouth was twisted in a frown. As Peter looked down to read her name tag, Al it said, her expression seemed to sour even more. She was dressed in a matching teal colored tracksuit and didn’t appear the least bit intimidated by Peter’s presence.

“Uh, do… do you work here?” Peter asked in a polite voice as he turned to face her fully.

The corners of her lips dipped even further down, if that was possible, and she didn’t miss a beat before tearing into Peter for his idiotic question.

“Well, we didn’t name the gym ‘Dumbass’’, so yeah, I guess I do work here. Might even own the damn place but what do I know,” she sassed him from her seat. It took Peter a moment to realize that her head hadn’t bothered to track him or his movements since he’d walked in the door. Was… was she blind?

A hand clapped down hard on his shoulder, and Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. A dirty-blond haired and scruffy looking man sporting a thick pair of plastic frames helped himself into Peter’s personal space before offering a lop-sided grin that showed entirely too many yellowed teeth to be classified as friendly. The guy’s features were otherwise unremarkable, but Peter had high suspicions that this was, in fact, the legendary Weasel that Gwen had told him about via text.

Upon closer inspection, Peter felt the guy resembled more of a shrew; he looked unnecessarily aggressive and brash instead of something as sleek and dignified as a true weasel. 

“You gonna spend all night hangin’ out here with Golden Girl or do ya plan on walkin’ yer behind over to the practice ring some time tonight? Nobody wants to wait around while you watch Blind Al rot in this shit house.”

Well, there, that confirmed it then.

“Says the ferret whose greatest star prefers training in said shit house,” Al huffed.

She sank back into her chair and waved them both off with a disinterested flick of her wrist. “I’m sicka looking at you two. Get him out of my face, Weas.”

Weasel hadn’t bothered to loosen his grip on Peter and started steering them away from the front desk. “Phfft, _looking,_ she says… that old bat hasn’t been able to see a damn thing since she turned 200.”

Their interaction with one another was kind of odd in and of itself. Every other time Peter had gone to an official training gym sponsored by MMW, he was forced to show copious amounts of identification just to get past the front desk attendant. And if there wasn't a snobby receptionist waiting for him, those gyms almost always sported a security guard stationed by the entrance, primed and ready as any guard dog protecting private property that Peter had ever seen in New York. An old blind lady, who seemed more bark than bite, was as deeply concerning as it was refreshing.

It was almost like nobody cared here.

Weasel continued to yank him along until they made it to the back of the gym where all the bright fluorescent lights suddenly seemed to dim themselves. It appeared as though half the light fixtures there had been disabled or tampered with in some way so that they were only able to work at half their actual capacity. Peter had hardly more than a second to spend studying the layout of everything inside the dimly lit gym before he caught sight of another one of his heroes, and main reason for pursuing wrestling as a career, Pileta de Muerto.

 _No,_ Peter told himself sternly, feeling his heartbeat tick up from the influx of nerves; Pileta was going to be his new _coworker._ He really needed to stop idolizing every single superstar he came into contact with here at Modern Marvels. It wasn’t fair for him to place them on a pedestal as though they were perfect beings, akin to gods when in reality, they were more likely average, down to earth and hardworking folks attempting to make a living just like himself.

Pileta turned around and stood up from the bench he’d been sitting on outside the ring proper. Peter knew it was him by the design of his mask. Pileta often preferred donning full masks that completely covered his face while both in and out of the ring. No one was really sure why he felt compelled to hide his entire face, but most masked wrestlers fought hard to keep their real names and faces hidden from all public scrutiny. Who they were outside the ring didn’t matter as long as they continued to perform inside the ring and entertain their fanbase.

And it would appear the only one who’d managed to forget that very important fact was Peter, who, in the process of obsessing over how this meeting would go and how he would get there in a timely fashion, had forgotten his Spider-Man mask back at the motel.

Peter’s hand slid up to cover his face, suddenly feeling overexposed by his amateurish mistake. Had Gwen tagged along with him, this would never have happened in the first place. If either Weasel or Pileta let it slip that he’d shown up to an outside practice without his mask, he knew she would never let him hear the end of it for as long as she managed him.

Peter’s eyes shifted back to Pileta de Muerto, and he caught himself holding his breath under the scrutiny of the masked wrestler’s gaze while he and Weasel continued to close the distance to the practice ring.

“Hah, looks like you just now realized you’re supposed to be an  enmascarado, huh?” The larger man walked the rest of the way to him with an ungloved hand outstretched in greeting, but there was something odd about the flesh he could see now that Peter thought looked… strange.

Pileta de Muerto was a good half a foot taller than Peter and towered over him in both a physical and metaphorical sense. Even bathed in the darkness at the back half of Al’s poorly lit gym, however, Peter couldn’t find it in himself to shy away.

His upper body was covered in a skintight black long sleeve shirt that left little to the imagination, and Peter watched the muscles of Pileta’s upper body flex underneath the dark material as his arms swayed mid-walk. He looked as intimidating and awe-inspiring in casual wear as he did in full costume.

Pileta offered him a smile, or at least what Peter thought might be a smile, from under the material of his mask. Despite being unable to really see him, Peter felt his demeanor was infinitely kinder than Weasel’s had been. His body language was more open and friendly, and Peter thrust out his own hand to complete their handshake. Here too, he could _feel_ something peculiar about Pileta’s skin.

Whatever it was, Peter was too busy focusing on the fine details of Pileta de Muerto’s mask up close, in-person.

After they perfunctorily shook hands, Peter felt something akin to electricity zing up his arm as they both moved to release the hold. The static shock might have been due to the proximity of their bodies, or maybe it had been caused by the odd texture Peter had felt on the skin of Pileta’s hand. Either way, he found himself not caring why he felt the way he did but instead savoring the feeling for what it was as it raced down his spine. He was practically buzzing. How many people ever got to meet their idols in person? This was amazing.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Pileta breathed out, his voice a jagged baritone that felt as corrosive as it sounded. “From one mask to another, I won’t out you to anyone. After all,” he added, “we gotta support each other.”

Feeling even more dumbstruck by the encounter, Peter continued to stare long enough that Weasel had to bodily force him in the direction of the locker room to get geared up for their practice bout. He was pretty sure he overheard him muttering to Pileta that he hoped Peter wasn’t as dumb as he looked, but it was all just water off a duck’s back. No amount of criticism about his own flaws or stupidity were going to kill his excitement at the chance to finally work with a masked wrestler that he highly respected.

He rushed to slip out of his street clothes, fitted jeans and hoodie with a plain t-shirt underneath, and into his training gear. Unzipping his duffle, Peter fished out a pair of form-fitting athletic pants. Once he swapped those with his jeans, he dug back into his bag to pull out his wrestling shoes. Peter slipped out of his sneakers to step into the bright red high-tops. He even took the time to double tie the laces to ensure they were a little tighter than usual because he didn’t want any mishaps tonight.

The last thing he did was take off his hoodie and stuff into the bag before zipping it up. Peter then tossed his shoes and duffle into the nearest empty locker and slammed the door shut. The corroded locking mechanism refused to latch in place, but he wasn’t even bothered by that. When he’d shown up at the gym, he hadn’t seen anyone else present except for Pileta, his agent, and the sassy gym owner. There was no need to worry about someone taking his belongings.

Finally making his way back to the practice ring, Peter noticed that Pileta had already climbed into the ring with Weasel hanging on the edge of a nearby turnbuckle. Whatever they were discussing ended abruptly the moment both men caught sight of Peter.

“A’ight, get on up.” Weasel motioned his head towards the middle of the ring. “We only have the practice ring for a couple hours before Al gets to throw us out, and I know ‘cuz I booked it.”

Peter nodded and hopped up on the opposite side of the ring. As he ducked down in between the top and middle ropes, one of his feet got tangled, and he tumbled gracelessly into the ring. Instinct was the only thing that kept him from completely face-planting in front of one of his idols, and he rolled through the fall, coming to an impromptu stop in a low crouched position opposite Pileta de Muerto and his agent.

“Phfft, show-off,” he overhead the superstar mutter under his breath. Something was unsettling in the way Weasel’s eyes narrowed, though, like he knew Peter wasn’t being showy and was actually a klutz.

Whatever else Weasel might have been thinking was kept to himself as he stepped down from the ring. Instead, he chose to walk over to a nearby stool and seat himself on the edge with his chin atop a fist. The too astute look from before seemed to have disappeared and was replaced by a generally bored look of disdain.

“So, Gwenny tells me you can do some pretty flashy moves.”

Peter just nodded at Weasel’s comment. It was true that Gwen had been having him practice more technical and high-flying moves in the past week than he ever had at the wrestling academy or with his coworkers in the semi-pro league. Whether or not he would be skilled at executing them with a professional partner had yet to be tested. The fact that he hadn’t done so yet didn’t seem to bother Weasel in the slightest. On the contrary, he moved to point a lazy finger right over him at his own assigned star.

“Well then, as they say in the spaghetti westerns to their crummy old horses: go’n, git! Ding-ding and all that shit.”

Before Peter could comment that neither he nor Pileta de Muerto should never be compared to work horses, the ring shook from Pileta’s steps toward him. His hand was outstretched once again, but this time the light from the fixtures hanging above the ring seemed to catch and highlight the unusual texture of the other wrestler's skin.

What he could make out in the dim lighting looked mottled with odd patches of white and pink marbled together in a strange pattern… like scars. Peter glanced up to see another smile transmitted through the fabric of the red and black mask in front of him.

He would never have dared to dream of shaking this man’s hand once, let alone twice. The exhilaration that filled him at the prospect of them working together, on his professional wrestling debut no less, was something Peter couldn’t have ever conjured up in his wildest dreams. Of course he’d always hoped he would would work for a professional league someday, but he hadn’t envisioned it so soon after he went semi-pro. Some wrestlers spent a lifetime dedicating themselves to the sport and had little or nothing to show for it. He couldn’t believe he was one of the lucky ones who got to meet and work with as big a superstar as Pileta de Muerto.

Peter was, for all intents and purposes, starstruck again.

When he reached out to accept the man’s offered hand, he didn’t expect the other wrestler to pull him close enough that their shoulders crashed into one another.

“Just to be fair, since I got to see your face earlier,” the grip on his hand tightened marginally, “you get to call me Wade.”

Peter’s eyes widened at the gesture. A hot sensation crept up along his neck, his ears felt too warm on the sides of his head and his heart sped up fast enough to give Van Halen’s [Hot for Teacher](https://youtu.be/6M4_Ommfvv0?t=53) a run for its money.

“Now, let’s see whatcha got.”  
  


* * *

  
The remainder of their practice went downhill exponentially after that. Peter’s earlier fumble to get into the ring had been the harbinger of all the bad things yet to come.

Weasel’s demands had started out simple; he wanted to see how well Peter took hits before he gave them. All of that had gone well enough until he’d told Wade to try out a [ Biel throw](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U1mpGRPthwU) on the twink. Peter took offense to the comment but kept his mouth shut all the same.

A move like that should have been easy.

The physics of it only required Peter to push off from the mat with both of his feet to help build momentum so that he could make the full flip over Wade’s shoulder, and yet, somehow, his ever awkward self had managed to whack Wade on the shoulder mid-throw.

He’d forgotten to tuck his knees once Wade had lifted him up.

“Rookie mistake,” Weasel booed at him from where he was still seated on his stool. Peter did his best to ignore that, too, but it was the least harmful of all his mistakes that night.

Another incident occurred not more than ten minutes later during set-up for a [ Canadian backbreaker](https://youtu.be/ebkuBgtKlfc?t=48). Pileta had patiently explained the move to him in great detail before they attempted it. At that point, his attitude continued to remain unphased by Peter’s underperformance. No part of this maneuver should have been new to Peter as he had seen Pileta’s variation of it performed countless times before on television. It only required the practitioner to haul their opponent up over their dominant shoulder and balance both of their weights evenly before moving to slam themselves and their charge down to one knee on the mat. Their mutually well-timed positions and reactions would create the illusion of a painful landing for the wrestler caught in the hold.

Yet, when it came time for him to finally get hefted up over Wade’s shoulder, just before the drop, Peter’s reflexes had gone into overdrive at the too quick shift in elevation. He’d managed to tense so badly that his legs curled up involuntarily against Wade’s back, nearly toppling both men over.

When they attempted the move a second time, Peter’s hand happened to slide off of Wade’s during the lift, and he accidentally jabbed the poor man right in the eye, or where his eye might be under the white material of his mask. It was pathetic, to say the least, and all Peter could do was shuffle his feet awkwardly and apologize to his hero as the man attempted to rub the ache away in between muttered curses.

“Hey, [ Shaun of the Dead, quit aimin’ for the head](https://youtu.be/ONEZfj6h1xc?t=32),” Weasel heckled him.

The comment stung because it wasn’t completely unfounded. The other superstar had just taken the time to coach Peter through the same move twice. There really was no excuse for such poor form, and Peter felt horrible.

Weasel, either trying to defuse the situation or merely stoking the fire, asked for them to assume a front-facing stance so that Peter to show-off his critically acclaimed [ flying armbar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84slghGH_lU). Gwen must have told him that Peter’s speed and accuracy with the move were top-notch, and considering how horribly he’d been executing everything else thus far, Peter jumped at the opportunity to prove he could finally do something right.

All Peter needed to do was lunge forward to lock his hands around Wade’s neck and elbow respectively, then kick his right leg up to start the swing of his body so that his left leg could hook up over Wade’s head, and drop them to the ground where he could then transition into a proper armbar.

He must have practiced the move hundreds of times since he first learned how to perform it. If there was one thing that Peter should have been able to do with little conscious effort, it would have been this. So when he managed to knee Pileta in the chest a little too hard that he heard a pained _oof_ slip past his lips, he lost focus just long enough to kick his left leg up at a bad angle that caught the side of Wade’s head with his kneecap.

That was the final straw.

“¡Deja de chingar conmigo!” Wade roared as he reached up and pried him off. Peter felt the world spin as he was slammed hard onto the floor of the ring a second later. He still saw stars from the impact when Wade lunged forward to cage him against the mat. His face was so close to Peter that he could faintly see the color of his partner’s hidden eyes behind the fine mesh of his mask. They were a vibrant blue hue, cool and hardened like ice. Even if he couldn’t make out the rest of Wade’s face, the look he was surely receiving cut bone-deep into Peter like a knife.

“I-”

“No!”

A fist slammed down loudly next to his left ear, and Peter flinched. His lower lip tightened and found a home in between his teeth. The faint taste of copper followed shortly thereafter as Wade exhaled a ragged breath right in his face, the heat of it transmitting through the fabric of his mask. He smelled faintly of mint and something spicy.

“Escuchame cabron, you’re nothing but a no-talent pretty boy who’s been hired to boost this company’s ratings.” Wade’s right hand came up, index finger pressing cruelly enough into the flesh of Peter’s cheek that his left eye began to water from the pressure.

“If you have any _real_ respect for this sport,” he continued, “you’ll find the exit door, pronto. There’s no one in this business who’ll tolerate your mediocre ass forever!”

Having said his piece, Wade pushed himself off of Peter. The sound of his footfalls made it seem like he was going to exit the ring, but before he ducked under the ropes, he paused in thought. Weasel remained surprisingly quiet throughout the whole fiasco. It was almost like he was scared of Wade, too, because he didn't say anything now when he had been so brave to talk smack before.

Peter was equally terrified and refused to move from where he'd been thrown down onto the mat.

“And another thing,” he heard his hero hiss out, “stop staring at me. It’s really fuckin’ rude in case no one ever told you.”

With that, Peter felt the ring shake as Pileta de Muerto, Wade, stormed off to what Peter could only assume was the men’s locker room. He didn’t allow himself to resume breathing properly again until he heard a metallic door slam in the distance.

A minute or two passed before a smaller weight shook the ring. Peter cautiously turned his head to catch sight of Weasel squeezing himself through the ropes to saunter over to Peter with a disapproving look on his face.

“Tsk, tsk, Piss-poor-excuse-for-a-wrestler-Man, you really fucked that up.”

Out of all the comments Peter had been forced to suffer throughout the night, Weasel’s latest criticism was enough to get his goat finally… horse and cow, too. Peter sat up on the mat and bared his teeth at the other man as menacingly as he could manage from where he’d been laid out on the floor.

“Look here you-”

“No,” Weasel yelled at him, “you look! Do you even understand why this is such a big deal!? Why this is bigger than just you having [_a case of the Mondays_](https://youtu.be/2AB9zPfXqQQ?t=10)? Real people put their real easily injured bodies on the line every time they step into this ring. You’d think you’d have learned that by now, you dip.”

Peter felt his fingers clench at the words. Of course he knew that! _Every single person_ who attempted to pursue wrestling as a viable career knew about the risks and injuries that happened every single day to someone, somewhere. It didn’t matter how careful they tried to be or how much they tried to practice to avoid it. Carelessness led to accidents, and tonight, Peter had been careless. He didn’t need some mousy looking stoner telling him what he already knew.

“Your agent really oughta lay into you about why being at the top of your game matters. Did she even tell you why she’s not here tonight? People like you are the reason someone like her never got a chance to shine. P’s right, man,” Weasel warned him again in a nasally tone of voice that should have been hard to take seriously if not for the honest look of concern etched on his face. “No one’s gonna wanna work with an injury waiting to happen like you, and you ain’t even debuted in the ring yet, [Rock](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TDCgp6JW8Ug). So don’t be a bum. This practice bullshit? Real stars don’t get this kinda time to plan, ever!

“If you’re not serious,” he continued, “you know where the door is to G-T-the-fucking-O.”

With that off his chest, Weasel spun on his heel, and goose stomped his way back through the ropes and onto the gym’s ancient seventies-era carpeting. Wade was just stepping out of the locker room when they caught sight of each other. Without sparing Peter a second glance, both men turned towards the entrance of the gym and made their way to the exit.

Peter had never felt so admonished in his life other than the time he’d gotten fired from his temp job as a paperboy for the Daily Bugle back when he was teen. J.J. Jameson had been a pompous ass. It was easy for Peter to feel righteous in his anger at how that situation had turned out. He hadn’t been the bad guy then.

His most recent session with Wade and Weasel, on the other hand, what they both had said was absolutely true, and that was why this pill was too hard for Peter to swallow.

And Weasel’s seemingly random comment about Gwen… what had he meant by that? Of course Gwen had told him why she couldn’t attend tonight! She’d said she was sick… whatever that meant. Thinking any further on the hidden meaning behind her choice of words... he was just too emotionally taxed right then to give it the proper attention it deserved.

Shame and guilt and anger continued to seethe within Peter long after Wade and Weasel had left him sitting in the middle of the ring. He didn’t know how long he’d lain there before Al came clambering over, whacking her white cane along a wall that led right to a spot opposite the ring.

“You just gonna sit there an’ sulk all day or can I finally close my damn gym? This ain’t a hotel despite what Weas may’ve told you, ‘cept maybe for roaches. Anyway, if yer planning on staying, I’m gonna hafta to charge you rent.”

That was good enough incentive as any for Peter to peel himself up off the mat. As was becoming his most frequent state of being these days, sweat rolled down his back as he rose to his feet and caused an unpleasant shiver to race up his spine.

He wandered over to the locker room, mind a mess, and only half remembered to trade his wrestling shoes for his street ones before gathering his duffle and the light sweatshirt he’d had on earlier. If he wasn’t going to get a chance to shower before he left the gym, this was his second best option to shield himself from offending others and or from the inevitable too cold a/c blasting on the bus. He shrugged his arms into the sleeves and tugged the rest over his head. Peter flung his bag over his shoulder and slammed the locker door shut even though he knew it wouldn’t close.

Al was waiting for him by the door, her white cane tapping impatiently against the welcome rug and an unlit cigarette pursed between her lips.

“Thanks,” Peter found himself telling her, ever mindful of his manners, even if this woman had been nothing but crass to him since his arrival.

His hand reached out to push open the door when Al’s cane came up to tap against the thick plexiglass. “Those two are right, you know,” she told him sagely. “Not much room for error in this business, and I’ve worked with some of the best.”

Peter stood silently as he waited for her to continue, but that was all she seemed willing to share with him tonight.

“Blah, blah, tomorrow’s another day or whatever shit those self-help books tell you to make you feel good about your loser self.” She lowered her cane out his way and nodded her head to move him along.

“Now get the hell outta here so I can lock up and smoke. You’ve absolutely overstayed your welcome no matter how polite you pretend to be.”

Walking out the door and to the bus stop, Peter couldn’t help the wobbly grin that somehow found its way up to his mouth. Was some crotchety old blind lady really trying to comfort him even after he’d failed miserably in front of one of his biggest wrestling idols? Had he fallen so low to rock bottom that a stranger, someone who seemed positively misanthropic, felt pity enough to offer him words of wisdom that might otherwise distract from the irreparable mess he’d just caused?

All it would take was one bad word from Pileta de Muerto or his agent, and he could be canned. So much for his hopes and dreams; goodbye to financially secure futures for him and his aunt.

The thoughts and more suddenly racing in this head became too much all at once. As Peter sat down, waiting for his bus to arrive, he slid his hand over his eyes to hide the frustrated tears that started to fall.


	3. Huracánrana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huracánrana, spelled hurricanrana in English, is often seen as a variation of the frankensteiner. It is a headscissors takedown that ends in a double leg cradle pinning hold. The move is named after its creator, Huracán Ramírez. Fun fact, any double-leg cradle is considered a rana. Famous wrestlers who use this as either a part of their finisher or signature movesets are Mistico and Rey Mysterio.

* * *

  
When Peter awoke the next morning, it was to another text from Gwen. Harassing him this often before 9 a.m. seemed to be her preferred method of contact. Peter groaned and rolled over to slap at his phone.

“Shouldn’ be wake ‘fore noon,” he groused, fingers still not quite willing to cooperate with the signals coming from his brain. One jaw-creaking yawn and a rough paw at his crusty eyes later, he swiped up the message preview and opened her text.

All it said was CALL ME NOW in capital letters, so he did.

The phone line rang three times before Gwen picked up.

“OHMYGOD, PETER! WHAT HAPPENED!?”

Peter audibly winced as he shifted under his covers to move the phone at least three inches away from his ear before attempting to speak again.

“Gwen… loud,” he told her.

“Wha- NO! You’re gonna tell me! You were doing so well the other day! Weasel told me you were totally off your game last night, and neither of us has any idea why! So tell me, what? What was it!? Was it the gym? The equipment? Al’s is a terrible place to practice, and I told Weasel that!”

“Gwen!” Peter sat up in bed and brought a hand up to rub at his eyes. The skin still there felt sticky and gross, an unfortunate side effect of having likely cried in his sleep. When was the last time he’d even done that anyway? Peter couldn’t remember.

“Peter,” he heard Gwen's voice call out to him, more softly this time. “Are you okay?”

Her words were enough to uncork all the anger and frustration in him, from the night before. Everything came bubbling out of him like so much champagne. Peter sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth and worried at it

“I… I messed up,” he told her like it would explain everything, as if those words would somehow erase all the mistakes he’d made last night in front of one of his idols; the same man he’d succeeded in making so angry that he’d walked out of their practice session. Wade probably hated him now and would most likely refuse to work with him. A big superstar like that, who might tell Modern Marvels that he was both dangerous and unreliable, could just as easily get him fired before he even got to debut.

That thought caught hold of his heart and made it seize up in his chest. Was that what was going to happen now? Was that why Gwen was calling him, to tell him he was going to be fired? A strangled sound got stuck in his throat. Peter couldn’t understand why the hand that covered his eyes suddenly felt wet.

“Peter,” Gwen said. “Peter, you gotta relax,” she tried again. “I’m not calling ‘cuz you’re in trouble! Well, I mean… Weasel told me you really managed to piss Pileta off, but no one’s seriously upset with you! We all have bad days, okay? It’s not a big deal, you just-”

Peter interrupted her. “No, Gwen, I was totally reckless! Weasel… he was right… I could have really hurt Wa-” He stopped himself right before he got the other man’s real name out. Right now, Peter didn’t even feel like he had the right to know that much about Pileta de Muerto. That kind of personal information had been given in confidence before Peter had ruined any chance of ever getting to really know the man behind the mask.

“I could have really hurt someone,” he repeated again.

Gwen was silent on her side of the phone, then she let out a long suffering sigh.

“What did Weasel say?”

“He… he told me that people like me are the reason people like you never got a chance.”

Peter thought he heard Gwen breathe out a swear at that but said nothing in return.

“Look Peter,” the volume of her voice louder as she pressed her face closer to the phone receiver. “What happened… what happened to me was as much my fault as anyone else’s, and Weasel definitely shouldn’t be using that as some kind of reason to shame you into feeling bad. I _KNOW_ you Peter, you-”

A caustic sounding laugh cut her off. “No, you really don’t,” Peter corrected her.

“Well, I know you _well enough_ then,” Gwen reasoned. “And I’m absolutely certain that you were just having a serious case of the fanboys. That’s kinda my fault, too, to be honest, for not introducing you to everyone sooner so that you can hurry up and get over this weird hero complex you have with the other wrestlers. Peter, I promise, they’re all just normal folks outside of the ring.”

“I know,” he agreed. “I just… I get so nervous sometimes and then I’m not focused, and it just- one mistake led to another and it just spiraled out of control!”

“And that’s what Weas was talking about, right? That you could hurt someone if you’re not bringing your A-game?”

“Exactly,” Peter confessed.

“Well, just know that I’m really sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I knew your nerdy butt needed me but this… Look Pete, I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for later today and once my treatment kicks in, I’ll be good as new and can join you at Al’s.”

“Wait. What?” He was suddenly confused. Why were they going to Al’s a second time? Hadn’t he burned that bridge?

“Yeah, you didn’t know the execs gave you guys time for three practice sessions? Weas was supposed to message you and tell you the date and time. Not surprised he didn’t honestly, slacker. But the main thing I want you to understand is that you’re not in trouble. Just don’t whiff this one again, okay?”

At that, the clenching sensation in his chest lessened some. He wasn’t getting fired. He was getting another chance.

“I…” Peter paused to swipe at the tears that had fallen. “I won’t mess this up. I swear,” he told her in a wobbly voice.

“I know you won’t,” Gwen chuckled on her end. “Oh, and Peter?”

“Y-yes?”

“Don’t think you’re completely out of trouble with me yet. I also heard from a certain little rodent that someone showed up to practice yesterday without their mask.”

“Weasels aren’t part of the rodent family,” he was quick to correct her.

“OHMYGOD, PETER,” Gwen yelled. “That is _so_ beside the point, don’t change the subject! Just make sure you pack your mask next time web-head!”

“Yes, mom,” Peter promised, and they both laughed. By the time they finally hung up, Peter was already feeling better.

The aforementioned promised text from Weasel finally showed up on his phone a few hours later after he finished a call with his aunt. It said to meet at Al’s tomorrow night, same time, but also contained explicit directions for Peter to leave his Hoover at home. No sucking was allowed.

He rolled his eyes at the snide remark but agreed with it nonetheless. No more sucking, Peter told himself and grabbed his things to head off to his appointed gym and get in some additional training. Maybe he’d get lucky, and no one would be using the ring while he was there. Peter refused to let one unfortunate encounter with Pileta de Muerto completely ruin his outlook.

He would overcome this. He would prove he was worthy of being here.  
  


* * *

  
The next evening when he arrived at Al’s, he knew what to expect. The bus ride wasn’t nearly as long nor the building as ominous as before. It even looked like Al was waiting for him this time.

Her unusually perceptive nature was as alarming as it was impressive. Peter had barely even set foot past the door when she called out, knowing it was him. “Ah, look who decided to show up again,” she drawled without turning her head in his direction. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; Weasel had pretty much confirmed last time that she was, in fact, blind.

“Yeah,” he stifled his embarrassment behind a forced cough. “Me again.”

“Well,” she tilted her head back and rolled her tongue over her teeth. “They’re waiting for you in the back. Don’t screw it up this time, kid.”

“No pressure, right?” Peter let the gym’s front door swing shut behind him and reached into his sports duffle to tug out his mask. Spider-Man’s original concept design had been a full face mask, but in the end, Peter had been swayed by Mr. Otto’s suggestion that he go for an open mouthed design that partially revealed the lower half of his face.

There was a stark contrast between the bright red material and the black web design latticed over the front of it. Black trim outlined the more opaque white mesh covering his eye-holes. Tightening his hold on the mask, he brought one hand up to smooth down his hair before yanking the material over his head. Feeling the steady press of the fabric against his face brought with it a sense of calm. He wasn’t Peter Parker anymore, the poorest excuse for a wrestler ever hired by Modern Marvels. Now, he was Spider-Man.

He stepped forward, one foot placed confidently in front of the other, until he saw the ring. Today’s Pileta was sporting a similar look from the time before. His mask completely covered his face, effectively obscuring any facial features a person might use to gauge his response to seeing Peter again.

The only thing left for Peter to read was Pileta’s body language, and it appeared more tense and reserved than it had in their previous session. Was he upset that Peter had returned? Would he have been relieved if Peter had just quit? Or was he impressed that Peter even had the gall to show his face again, albeit in his mask this time?

He’d never know for sure and didn’t get to wonder when Weasel called out to him.

“Looks like someone remembered their Halloween costume this time. You ready to go trick-or-treating now, Spider-Man?”

Peter didn’t dignify the jab with a response and instead made his way over to the locker room. He needed to finish changing. Serious wrestling deserved serious gear. If Weasel thought he was cute alluding to Peter’s current attire, then he was definitely in for a surprise.

Finding the same locker he had used before empty, Peter chose to tempt fate and tossed his belongings it once again. If he could rewrite a bad experience with a better one, he’d finally be able to crawl out from under this cloud of shame.

His top had stayed the same; he wore a fitted athletic long sleeve under his track jacket, but his pants got switched for Spider-Man’s professional wrestling shorts. The length of them had initially seemed questionable to Peter when they were first suggested back at the academy. The freedom to fully bend his knees without restriction at the thigh and groin area, however, made them a perfect fit for the high energy style he enjoyed flaunting in the ring as Spider-Man. His red wrestling shoes were next, followed by his extended shin guards that slid right up to the tops of his knees. The fabric there was a combination of navy blue and red with the same black latticework repeated over the vermillion blocking to create an illusion of nearly knee-high boots.

His knee pads were last to help secure the extended shin guards in place. If he was going to go all out, that meant protecting himself from any potential injuries that the high-flying he planned on doing tonight might cause. Peter chose to forgo his gloves at the last second to ensure he could manage a good grip. He’d definitely reserve the right to wear those on the night of their final practice session, barring he didn’t royally screw up this one.

The locker door refused to close again, big surprise, and Peter strode out of the locker room in most of his Spider-Man outfit. Weasel took one look and whistled at him through crooked teeth, a sleazy grin on his smug face.

“I’d like an order of hot wings with my fried pickles, Hooters.” Weasel cackled at his own bad joke, but Wade remained eerily silent as Peter walked up to the ring and climbed in.

The lights above them had been miraculously fixed, and Peter realized that he could see everything more clearly than the time before. Pileta de Muerto’s mask was similar in color scheme to his own; Peter had based his design off it, after all. Whereas Pileta’s costume was a deep crimson, like the color of blood, his was more of a true red. The other noticeable differences between their looks were that Pileta’s mask featured a hood and two oblong patches of black material over each eye with only a small white area of opaque mesh. The fabric was so small it barely stretched wide enough to allow for usable sight.

Most professionals might have complained that the mask’s visibility was too narrow to execute any of the high-risk and dangerous moves that Pileta de Muerto was known for, but the other wrestler was nothing if not one of the best. He’d been competing for years with the same base design and had never once failed to land a move on live television. Peter admired that about him the most.

Just like the time before, Pileta was wearing a full, long sleeve training shirt but now his hands were covered by his wrestling gloves. The fingers and palms were black and looked like he’d dipped them into ink. The remainder of each glove was as red as his mask and secured tightly just past each wrist with a thick black velcro strap. There was no skin on display today and that might have made more sense to Peter if he wasn’t so hyper-aware of everything not... _Wade_.

He could only say the name quietly in his head, still afraid to test any more boundaries without first earning back the right to refer to him as such.

“Nice mask,” Pileta finally offered, just as Peter finished rolling out his shoulders. “Looks familiar.”

Peter’s eyes fixated on the shadow of his opponent’s lips moving beneath the fabric covering his face. “Imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?”

Pileta de Muerto might have smiled at that. Or not, Peter couldn’t tell.

“If you two ladies would stop complimenting each others’ hair, I’d like to see you throw down in this lifetime!” Peter jumped at the abrasive sound of Weasel’s voice. He’d nearly forgotten the man was there. Shaking out his head one last time, Peter willed himself to focus.

Spider-Man had everything to prove now that Peter Parker had messed up. He didn’t need to screw up twice to learn from his mistakes.

Both wrestlers lunged forward at the same time.

* * *

During the break, Peter unsnapped the clasp of his mask to wipe away the sweat forming along his throat. So far, he’d managed to nail every single move that Weasel had called out tonight, including, but not limited to, his flying armbar, which had caused such a fiasco last time.

Pileta hadn’t said anything while they were in the ring, being a good sport and allowing Weasel to order them around and repeat each move again and again until their transitions were nearly seamless. By now, he must have changed the order of their show set at least five times.

The script had initially started with Peter rushing in from behind the main stage to interrupt an unscheduled fight between Wade and another wrestler. He was supposed to springboard up into the ring, dive into a roll, and distract Pileta from his previous opponent. From there, they’d trade a couple of basic blows, Pileta de Muerto would fling Spider-Man into a corner, and that’s where Peter would really get a chance to shine. He was supposed to get up and over Pileta, suspend himself long enough for the other wrestler to pull back, and look up so that he could land square on his shoulders and transition into a hurricanrana. He’d briefly gotten to practice the move on other wrestlers after he’d gone semi-pro; it was a touchy one as most folks didn’t always feel comfortable with another person’s legs wrapped so precariously around their necks.

Pileta had been nothing but professional each time they set up for the move, which was a little surprising in Peter’s opinion because of how many times his crotch was directly in the other man’s face. Despite that, a majority of the work was going to have to come from Pileta de Muerto, and Peter trusted him to make it look good in the end. Right now though, he was glued to his water bottle and stretching out his quads.

Weasel had wandered over to Wade the second they’d climbed out of the ring and had steadily been chatting him up in a hushed voice for the last couple of minutes. Peter tried his best to ignore them. Aunt May had raised him not to listen in when he wasn’t invited, but his curiosity finally got the better of him. He sat on a nearby bench as an excuse to get closer.

“El tiene cojones,” he thought he heard Pileta say. Peter’s understanding of Spanish was only rudimentary at best, but he definitely knew at least one of those words.

“Yeah, well, far as I’m concerned, you still owe the little shit like five [receipts](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_professional_wrestling_terms#receipt) from yesterday,” Weasel said, his expression ever disgruntled. “Just make sure you’re prepared to cover for him if he fucks up again. ‘Cuz honestly, between this time and the last, I’m not even sure which is the fluke. Maybe those damn masks really do give you morons superpowers, who fuckin’ knows!” The two men laughed at that inside joke, both oblivious to Peter’s hidden gaze.

Instead of continuing to listen in for more, Peter chose to distract himself by running through their newly proposed routine courtesy ala Weasel. After the rana, Peter would climb back up the turnbuckle and attempt a jump only for Pileta to spring back up and jostle him. They didn’t practice that, but Peter felt confident he could land a fake fall on the ropes without actually racking himself. From there, Pileta would set him up for a Canadian backbreaker. That move had gone much more smoothly this evening since Peter was now accustomed to being manhandled up and over his opponent’s shoulder.

After the backbreaker, Pileta would attempt to garner some [ heat](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_professional_wrestling_terms#heat) from the crowd. No one wanted to see a new would-be hero getting the crap kicked out of him for trying to do the right thing. After all, this match was supposed to be about selling Spider-Man as a great and irreproachable face character, so Pileta de Muerto would definitely have his work cut out for him. Peter hoped he could live up to the pressure of those expectations by next week.

He set his water bottle back down and redid the clasp of his mask under his chin.

“You up for some more punishment, Pipsqueak-Man?” Weasel crossed his arms over his chest, a certain gleam reflecting off his glasses that said he’d been aware of Peter’s eavesdropping the entire time. Peter tried not to let that affect him and stood up to roll out his neck and shoulders before climbing back into the ring with Pileta following closely behind.  
  


* * *

  
The remainder of their practice went by uneventfully. As soon as the clock struck ten, Pileta de Muerto saw himself out of the ring and beelined straight to the locker rooms without another word. Peter would have gone after him but a pasty white palm slammed right into his chest as he made to slip between the top and middle ropes. He looked down at the owner of the hand and saw Weasel sneering back at him.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked, trying to keep the rising irritation out of his voice.

“Yeah, coupla somethings actually,” Weasel told him off-hand. “How ‘bout you step out of the ring so we can talk face to face. Ya know, without your silly mask on.”

“Your own star wears a mask; you sure that’s something you should be saying to me?”

Weasel’s sneer grew into a wide grin, and he coughed out a couple of laughs. “My, my, how they grow up so fast… no, but seriously, I wanna talk to you.”

Peter just nodded and waited for Weasel to remove his hand before stepping out of the ring. Once his feet hit the floor, he reached up to undo the snaps of his mask. He still didn’t move to take it off, though, as a kind of petty retaliation for all of Weasel’s previous jabs to his character throughout the evening. So what if Peter had forgotten his mask the first time they met. He felt he’d earned the right to be treated with some respect after such an excellent performance today.

“Listen.” Weasel stepped in a little closer. Peter had to resist the urge to shy away. Everything about Weasel up close made him uncomfortable. He didn’t trust the guy as far as he could throw him, which at a weight of maybe 170-ish pounds, was about three feet.

“You did good.”

That… was not the response he had been expecting.

“Wha… what?”

“Yeah, you heard me,” Weasel rolled his eyes. “I said you did good tonight, but P and I? We need more than just good. You gotta be like this every time, capiche?”

“What are you, some bad secondary character from the Godfather?”

Someone snorted in the background, and Peter looked over Weasel’s shoulder to see Pileta, no, Wade leaning against the wall closest to the locker room. He’d finished changing out of his costume and had opted to slip back into the most casual clothes Peter had ever seen on him. Wade was dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and another dark long-sleeved t-shirt under an unzipped grey hoodie. His whole look was completed with a less detailed version of his usual wrestling mask hidden under the hood of his sweatshirt. The bottom of it was rolled up, though, and Peter could faintly see the flash of white teeth.

“Ha-ha, laugh it up losers,” Weasel seethed, sounding betrayed. “And everyone wants to know why poor Weas never gives compliments any more, well here the fuck is the reason why!”

He jabbed a finger into the fabric of Peter’s athletic shirt. “Look, don’t let tonight’s success go to your weird webbed-head. There was no real pressure to perform, so of course, everything should have been perfect. This was easy! Come Monday night, you’re gonna be doing this shit for real, in front of millions of fans. There will be no redoes, no take-backs if you choke on live TV. So bring this same energy back with your coach, got it? If you’re a one-trick pony, there’s no use for ya!”

With that said, Weasel didn’t even give Peter a chance to reply and turned around to meet Wade half-way.

Neither offered so much as a _see you later_ or wave good-bye. Peter watched their backs disappear as they made their way to the front and spoke briefly with Al before heading out into the night. Pretty sure that the old woman would be on her way back to shoo him out again, Peter turned in the direction of the locker rooms to change and collect his things.

He tugged his mask off and ran a hand through his hair to revitalize the roots. Wearing a mask for extended periods while sweating tended to make you look crazy when you dressed down to your regular clothes. Opening the locker, he reached inside his duffle to pull out his street clothes when he caught sight of his cell phone flashing.

The little LED light winked, showing that he’d missed a message while he’d been training. Using his thumb to unlock the phone, he saw that Gwen had sent him another text. She typed that her appointment had gone well but the treatment had hurt like an indistinguishable jumble of letters. She also added that even though she still wasn’t feeling 100% yet, she was definitely going to be there for Peter’s final practice session tomorrow night. _Come hell or high water_ , the final part of the text had said, and Peter found himself smiling at that.

He’d just finished taking off his extended shin guards and was thumbing the hem of his shorts down over his thighs when the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.

“I was serious about the rent, young man. I may be old, but I ain’t got all night to wait around for you to finish changin’.”

A scream, way too high-pitched to be considered manly, escaped Peter. He took a tumble over a nearby rickety old bench with his hands flailing to cover his indecency. The traitorous waistband of his shorts tangled up around his thighs. What a bad day to choose the jockstrap, he internally reflected as his shoulder bounced off the dirty locker room floor. Peter was never more thankful that Al was well and truly blind because this had to be the most mortifying position anyone could find him in.

“Don’t be stupid,” she clucked her tongue at him. “Even if I could see, I wouldn’t wanna be lookin’ at your half-naked ass. Now hurry up and get some damn pants on so I can throw you out. Most normal places require shoes and shirts for service, but I gotta demand pants since this is a fitness center or some shit. Open a gym, they said. It’ll be easy, they said!” With that, she saw herself out of the locker room doorway and tapped her cane along the wall back towards the entrance.

“End me,” Peter whispered to no one as he scrambled back up to finish getting dressed. And if he couldn’t look Al directly in the face while saying goodbye that night, then maybe he could pretend that what happened in the locker room hadn’t happened.

His face burned the entire time he waited for the bus to arrive.  
  


* * *

  
The next time Peter saw Wade, it was with Gwen. True to her word, she’d shown up for their final practice session at Al’s.

Although Peter had expected to be harassed by the mousy looking man, Gwen’s presence seemed to reel in his back-handed commenting some. Instead of criticizing any mistakes they saw, both managers opted to chat professionally about ways they could improve the proposed routine.

Everything had to be perfect, and neither party wanted to be the reason for a failed debut.

Peter and Wade worked well together, had gone through the whole thing at least three times, to the point where it almost felt like muscle memory now. But, for Peter, something remained amiss throughout the entire practice. While Gwen and Weasel were very vocal about everything happening, Pileta seemed to be aloof and withdrawn.

He’d come decked out in a full mask, costume gloves, and wrestling boots with shin guards to match. Instead of the baggy track pants he’d worn the two previous times, he’d gone Peter’s route and worn a skintight pair of black runner's tights. The fit of his clothes hid absolutely nothing, and Peter caught himself gawking a few times at the sheer size of Wade. What might have been appreciative jealousy attempted to rear its ugly head before Peter squashed it down. He was pretty fit for his shape and size; he had nothing to be embarrassed about in his equally tight Spider-Man costume.

So why had he felt so compelled to stare at Wade in half of his outfit?

During their break, Pileta had avoided him like the plague, sidestepping all of Peter’s advances to talk with him and only answering his questions or comments in the ring with single word responses or non-committal grunts. It had hurt in a way that Peter couldn’t quite explain. Before he knew it, Weasel was shaking hands with Gwen and saluting Peter with two fingers before tailing after Pileta who was making his way towards the locker room.

Had Gwen not climbed up along the edge of the ring to ask Peter to practice his entrance dive one more time, he might have done something reckless like run after the other wrestler and ask what his problem was. Instead, he did as he was told and ran the length of the training area to get up enough speed to clear the ring ropes. The tips of his toes barely missed grazing the nylon of the top rope, but it was good enough for him to be able to transition into a somersault and land in a basic hero pose. The fingers of his right hand had ended up curling oddly as he fought for balance and of course Gwen saw that as an opportunity for him to add more personality to his masked persona.

She dubbed it the thwip, and they both laughed about it before she finally allowed him to get dressed down for the car ride back. Weasel and Wade were nowhere in sight when Peter finally entered the locker room. Wanting to be quick, he swiped on some extra deodorant so as not to offend his chauffeur.

Surprisingly, Al didn’t give them a hard time about staying after hours and even waved at Gwen as they exited.

That bubbly facade popped once they climbed into her car. She waited until they pulled out of the back parking lot before leaning over to nudge Peter’s shoulder.

“You gonna tell me who kicked your puppy or do I gotta force it out of you?”

Peter flinched in his seat and turned to look at Gwen. “Wha- no… no one kicked my puppy. I’ve never even had a dog in my entire life!”

“Relax Einstein, it’s just an expression. But for real, you look kinda sad. You gonna tell ol’ Gwenny what happened?” She directed her eyes back on the road and hit the brakes to slow down for a stale green light up ahead. Her vehicle slowly came to a stop before the yellow light transitioned to red. With the car at a complete stand still, she looked back towards Peter.

“Augh, no sad puppy eyes, Gwen!” Peter groaned and rubbed his forehead against the cool glass of the window.

“Ah-hah! A dog reference! You were just playing dumb before!” Gwen squealed as the stoplight turned green. She pressed her foot down on the gas a little too forcefully and caused the car’s tires to screech when they pulled away from the intersection. The jerky motion of the vehicle brought about another fit of laughter from the both of them. Watching Gwen giggle under the flash of passing streetlights, Peter caught himself thinking that she was one of the best things to ever happen to him.

“So, are you nervous about tomorrow? ‘Cuz I gotta tell you, after seeing you perform tonight, I’m not the least bit worried and don’t think you should be either.” The car slowed down again as they turned off the main street and into a residential section.

“Hmmm,” Peter hummed and rested his head back against the cloth material of his seat. His left hand plucked nervously at the seatbelt cover his chest. “Do you… I mean, did you think… Gwen,” he turned to look at her again. “I think… Pileta is still mad at me.”

“Oh?” Gwen slowed and signaled to turn into Peter’s motel parking lot. “What makes you say that?” Her eyes checking for oncoming traffic before she moved the vehicle.

Peter bit his lip and lowered his head. “How much did Weasel tell you about the first practice session?”

Gwen pulled into the motel lot and squinted her eyelids in thought. “Uh, probably not as much as you think. He just told me that you made a bunch of mistakes and asked if you were actually the wrestler I told him you were.”

“That bad, huh?” Peter looked back up as Gwen shifted her car into park. She just shrugged in return.

“Not awful, I’d say.”

Peter sighed and scrubbed at his tired eyes. “But not great,” he appended. “Well, if he didn’t tell you everything, allow me. I must have clocked P-D-M on accident at least five times. I was just so… I was so nervous!” He groaned in frustration thinking back on how clumsy he had been. “If someone had done that to me, I’d probably hate them too!”

“So what happened?” Gwen prompted him to continue while the car idled.

“He got mad after the last time and threw me down on the mat. Swore at me some, I think, and poked me in the face.”

“Whoa, he did what?!”

“No, no, I deserved it.” Peter put both of his hands up to placate Gwen, “I’m not even mad. He could have broken me in half like a twig, but he didn’t. If a little verbal aggression is the worst he ever does to me, I’ll be grateful.”

“Oh, Peter, that’s not the point! He shouldn’t-” Gwen stopped when Peter put his hand up again.

“No really, it’s nothing.”

Gwen slumped back in her seat and huffed. “And what did our mutual acquaintance Mr. Hammer have to say about all this?”

“You mean Weasel?” Peter answered as a question. Gwen nodded. “Nothing? I mean, after it happened, he told me all of that stuff we already talked about on the phone. He wasn’t wrong either, I-”

“Peter,” Gwen’s tone was suddenly frigid. “Weasel doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He wasn’t there that day.” Gwen sighed, bringing her hands back up to rest on the steering wheel for something to grip onto.

“He’s a nice enough guy, you know? We used to train together years ago. He worked as something of a jobber in the minor leagues for a brief period of time before he finally realized he was a better coach than a wrestler. And me? Well, he always told me I had the talent to go far. So one day, I got an offer, but I was cocky,” she explained, eyes getting soft and unfocused under the faint lighting of the parking lot.

“I messed up,” she said simply. “I went for a move I had no business attempting, thought my spotter had me and well… here I am now.” She turned to look pointedly at Peter who’s eyes widened as the true nature of her illness finally dawned on him.

“Aw, Peter,” Gwen cooed at him, bringing a hand up to rest comfortingly on his arm. “I’m not completely broken. Not even mad about it anymore! Actually, the more I think about it, I was always meant to do what I’m doing now instead. I mean, how else were we ever gonna meet, right?” With that, she flashed him a bittersweet smile. The mirth of it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and something in Peter’s heart bled a little at the thought of a dream unfulfilled.

“Anyway, what I guess I’m trying to say is, don’t let what other people think get to you. Would it really be so bad if P-D-M was never your friend?”

“Well, now you make me sound like a bratty three-year-old,” Peter attempted to force humor into his words even when he struggled to find anything funny about the heavy subjects they were discussing. Gwen _had_ been a wrestler once, too. She’d had dreams, too. Now she could never be anything more than a coach for the sport she loved.

It must have been devastating

“I just… Pileta de Muerto… you promise you won’t laugh?”

The cheery air that often accompanied Gwen seemed to perk back up. “I will do no such thing, now spill the beans, fanboy!”

“I really respect the man. He’s part of the reason I’m here, Gwen. If-” he bit his lip in hesitation. “I just… I didn’t think it would bother me this much to disappoint him.”

When he looked back at Gwen, there was a different kind of smile waiting for him. “I think I understand. But I oughta tell you,” she reached down to shift her car back into drive. Peter’s eyes followed the movement of her hand and then blinked their way back up to her face. “A conversation such as this deserves ice cream, wouldn’t you agree?”

Shortly after they pulled into a late night drive-thru and finished ordering, Peter told her about how he’d gotten into wrestling as a kid.

It started as something he and his uncle bonded over, watching matches on TV late in the evenings. That almost came to an end when Peter was 14 and his uncle suddenly passed away. Both he and his aunt were devastated losing a part of their family. Uncle Ben had always been like a mountain in their lives, firm and unyielding, a stable presence until one day he was not.

It wasn’t fair.

To help Peter cope with the loss, Aunt May had taken it upon herself to talk with the high school’s wrestling coach to try and broker a deal with him and get Peter involved in something outside of the house. It wasn’t long after that he unofficially joined the junior varsity boy’s wrestling team. Money had always been tight for them, and she couldn’t afford the student-athlete registration fees. Feeling sorry for their situation, the coach had agreed to allow Peter to train with the other students after school during the weekdays. Peter would only be barred from competing in officially sanctioned competitions, but he and his aunt were more than happy to agree to those terms.

After a couple of months of rolling around on the mats and building friendships with the other boys his age, Peter started to feel better. It was then that he knew wrestling would always be a part of his life. He’d even asked his aunt for permission to enroll at a wrestling academy once he graduated high school, and she’d encouraged him. But things didn’t go according to plan... Peter never even made it to his senior year of high school, instead opting to drop out before the start of his junior year to get a full-time job that could help support his aunt and his dream.

He got his GED shortly after. It wasn’t hard or anything, Peter had always been an above average student, but now he had goals. He wanted to save up money for wrestling school and take care of his aunt.

May surprised him with the remainder of the tuition he needed to enroll at Kings of Queens on his seventeenth birthday, and he’d cried in her arms as he hugged her. The money had come from a pool of his own savings coupled with the money Aunt May and Uncle Ben had been stashing away to send him to college. Peter then took that opportunity very seriously, working part-time during the day and training hard every night with the other aspiring athletes at the wrestling school. 

Just before his graduation from the academy, he caught the debut match of a new character, Pileta de Muerto. The guy was amazing, one of the most inspirational wrestlers Peter had ever seen. Not much was known about the masked man’s personal history, but he’d told interviewers that his life prior to MMW was full of misfortune. He also told them that he’d only gotten into wrestling later in life by chance and was still shocked to see himself become so successful from it.

All anyone needed to do to be successful, he said, was to work hard and believe in themselves. That inspired Peter so much, that at age nineteen when he met Otto Octavius, a scout for Midtown Wrestling Alliance who asked him if he wanted to go semi-pro, Peter didn’t even hesitate to think about it. He said yes.

If someone like Pileta de Muerto could make it, then Peter could too.

Peter didn’t return to the motel until after midnight. But when he finally crashed in his bed later that evening, all of the heavier emotions he’d felt earlier were lighter somehow. “I can do this,” he whispered to himself.

He was going to fix this. He just needed to believe in himself.  
  


* * *

  
“I can’t do this,” Peter started hyperventilating into the small space his gloved hands made covering his nose. All of his prior convictions from before had flown right out the window as soon as he’d stepped foot into the entertainment stadium hosting the Monday night show.

He was expecting it to be big, but not _that_ big! The seats went on forever. He craned his neck back trying to find the nosebleeds and had almost succeeded giving himself one in the process.

Once Gwen had coerced him into his dressing room, he knew there was no turning back. After several minutes of consoling him out past the locked door, she’d somehow managed to drag him behind the curtain of the main stage’s titantron. A nearby production director was watching the live video feeds of the action currently going on in the ring, making sure to check for Peter over his shoulder every few minutes.

It would appear his secondary job was to ensure the new star didn’t bolt out of there before it was time for him to debut.

Any sudden movement from Peter found both Gwen and the director inching just a tad closer to block him in. He caught himself thinking about how pointless that was. Peter knew, logically, that he’d come too far to back out now. But losing his meager dinner from a few hours before? That was still totally fair game. His current state of nausea was a complex blend of anxiety to perform well and excitement to finally get out into the ring.

Gwen’s hands came up to rest on his shoulders as she attempted to soothe him back down. “You gotta slow down Pe- uh, Spidey. Believe me when I tell you that breathing like that is just gonna make things worse.”

“I know,” Peter heard himself say. Everything sounded too loud and intense all at once, the world a [ Maxell hi-fidelity commercial](https://youtu.be/Zk71h2CQ_xM?t=12). “I’m trying… Gwen, I-”

“T-minus two minutes,” the director called out without looking over his shoulder. He had a finger pressed into his earpiece and was rapidly shifting his gaze in between his clipboard and the monitors.

Peter took a moment to look over at one of the screens and watched as Pileta de Muerto, Wade he thought somewhat distantly, pummeled his opponent in the ring. For all the abuse that Star-Lord was taking, he was attempting to give as good as he got. This match-up was supposed to be the end all, be all to a long standing storyline feud between Pileta de Muerto and The Lord of Stars.

The big selling point of their match was supposed to be Spider-Man’s big debut. Wade’s character wasn’t going to be willing to let a scripted win satisfy him. Pileta de Muerto was supposed to pin the other wrestler and then continue to trounce him even after the ref called their fight. Said referee was then scheduled to intervene, get knocked out of the ring, and that would be the moment Peter was going to make his way down the main ramp.

Eyes still fastened to the live feed, Peter watched as the match on screen started winding down. Star-Lord took two knees to the chest from Pileta in a massive lungblower as they came crashing down onto the mat. Peter had never liked to be on the receiving end of that move; it literally knocked all of the air out of you. Even Gwen winced behind him as they watched Pileta and his wounded opponent separate.

“You ready for this?” She gave his shoulders a final squeeze. Peter took one last second to flap out his wrists, the half sleeves of his red and blue gloves cinching at the joints of his elbows under his matching elbow pads. He just nodded and kept his vision locked onto the screens in front of the director.

Here came the pin. The crowd started roaring, counting down along with the referee, and then the bell rang out. So fixated on watching Wade’s character on the video feed, Peter didn’t even hear the ring announcer proclaim him the winner. Now there were only a few seconds left before he had to be down there.

His heart started racing again.

Pileta de Muerto unhooked his arm from under Star-Lord’s leg and stood up slowly. His red and black wrestling boot lifting up to stomp down hard on The Lord of Stars costumed chest. The red and grey of the material he was wearing barely doing anything to dampen the sting of hard rubber on soft skin, especially not when Pileta appeared to be grinding the heel of his boot into his ribs judging by Star-Lord’s pained expression. The defeated wrestler could only weakly scratch at the laceless material of Pileta de Muerto’s shin guards.

Peter watched the referee rush over to try and push Wade off his beaten opponent. Pileta allowed the meek looking official shove at him but refused to budge. After the third time, he appeared to lose patience and finally turned on the ref.

He grabbed the poor man in a classic body slam, shifting the ref’s entire upper half over one shoulder while crouching down to slide an arm in between his legs to pick him up in a full body lift. Pileta de Muerto completely inverted the referee before turning away from his fallen opponent, now seemingly forgotten, to throw the ref down hard on the mat. The resounding thud that echoed off of the ring was met with equally loud boos from an angry crowd who had predominantly been cheering for the face to overcome Pileta at the conclusion of their feud match.

The way the writer’s had scripted everything had obviously pointed towards Star-Lord winning the match because no one was supposed to know about Spider-Man’s debut other than a select few individuals within the company. 

The signal for Peter to head out was when Pileta de Muerto picked Star-Lord up in a would-be chokeslam, adding insult to injury after an already disgraceful victory. The last thing he saw before Gwen turned him in the direction of the main stage entrance, was Wade advancing back on his opponent after he’d finished kicking the referee out of the ring.

She released her grip on him by shoving him away.

“Aaaaaand… GO!” The director also whipped around to finger gun Peter towards the ramp.

It was now or never.

Peter took one last breath to center himself as his mask felt simultaneously too restricting and not tight enough. Using his nervous energy to fuel his takeoff, he ran at a sprinter’s pace, arms pumping furiously at his sides as he raced down the ramp. The loud reaction from the fans faded into one solid boom of incoherent noise all around him. The only thing he could focus on was Pileta waiting for him in the center of the ring.

Pileta de Muerto was decked out in his full wrestling suit, face covered by his customary red and black hooded mask with matching tight spandex hugging every clenched muscle of his body as he dangled The Lord of Stars in a tight one-handed grip.

Both he and Star-Lord turned to watch the new challenger charge towards them.

The springboard came up fast, its location nearly identical to where Gwen and he’d been practicing his entrance all week prior. Peter leapt off the runway with one foot before bringing both feet together to flip off the springboard, legs spread eagle over the ring ropes. He held his hands splayed out to catch himself once he hit the mat to keep his momentum rolling forward through a somersault. All of the action happened so fast, he barely had a chance to redirect himself over to the opposite side of the ring so that he was facing Pileta de Muerto and Star-Lord as they’d planned.

Peter counted it among the smallest of blessings that the head writers hadn’t written any lines for him to spout during this debut. Just performing a high energy match, as Wade and he had rehearsed, was going to be difficult enough.

Seeming to sense the impending threat his new rival posed, Pileta dropped Star-Lord, none to kindly, back onto the ring floor. The other fighter, seeing a chance to escape, rolled gracelessly out of the ring under the bottom rope and landed audibly on the cement floor. Peter barely had a second to follow the movement before he caught the taunt Wade directed at him, a handful of black fingers waving on an upturned palm.

The ref was still nowhere to be seen since he’d been forcibly ejected from the ring, so the fight couldn’t necessarily be officiated, but the fighting bell rang out regardless.

Spider-Man and Pileta de Muerto both lunged for one another at the same time, Peter’s hands locking along Wade’s elbow and neck, and Wade’s own settling in place on Peter’s elbow and upper back. This was a classic approach, one Weasel had assured them fans went crazy over because it was supposed to forecast the physical strength of each party pitted against the other.

If there was even another person outside of the two of them at this moment, Peter barely noticed. Instead, he was focused on the white eyes of Pileta de Muerto’s mask. Both men continued to press their weight into one another, all while maintaining the hold. The toes of their shoes vyed for purchase against the smooth tarp of the ring.

Peter gritted his teeth, refusing to let Wade’s weight control their movement about the ring. Something shifted under Pileta’s mask, and Peter felt himself being released from the lock.

They broke apart, feet unsteady as they continued to size each other up. Peter very nearly forgot to dodge as Wade rushed at him again, a flash of blood red running passed his right side. Pileta’s boots squealed on the mat as he turned to rebound off the ropes and came back for a one armed clothesline. Spider-Man dipped under his arm and spun around to recapture a hold on Pileta.

Now that the foundation for suspense had been successfully built with Pileta de Muerto clearly on the offensive, this lock-up was shorter than the first. Pulling out a judo technique to use his opponent’s added weight against him, Spider-Man redirected Pileta’s force away from himself and into the nearest rope. He was going to make it look as though Spider-Man wanted to repay Pileta in kind by raising an arm to meet him on the return, but Pileta de Muerto’s greater size easily overpowered him when they came crashing together in the middle of the ring.

Peter barely had to sell the back bump as he threw himself flat on the mat.

His opponent downed, Pileta made a ninety degree pivot for the closest ropes. Peter rolled onto his stomach just in time for Wade to hop over him and turn around to ricochet off the ropes on the opposite side of the ring. While Wade was leaning back into the ropes to set himself up for another pass, Spider-Man sprung to his feet and jumped just in time to leap-frog over Pileta de Muerto, who ducked smoothly underneath him.

He wasn’t able to come to a complete stop on his own so quickly, so he turned around again to push off the ropes one final time. Spider-Man landed and tucked his feet in to roll backwards, allowing his opponent to dive over him and slow the remainder of his momentum at a more gradual pace using a somersault.

When both men got back to their feet, Peter didn’t hesitate to rush at Wade again, who telegraphed a punch that Spider-Man could easily dip beneath. Peter gazed down through his mask and calculated the distance between himself and the ropes.

He jumped, hands and feet both catching on the top and middle ropes of the ring respectively. This next move required him to trust that Wade would catch him mid-air. He waited for only a second before pushing off and turned to see Pileta waiting for him with an arm raised. They locked elbows, Peter repositioning them so that he would take the fall first, and then flung Wade over himself in an arm drag takedown.

Wade landed hard on his back, bouncing himself off the ring a second time to roll over onto his stomach for greater effect.

Spider-Man waited for the other wrestler to get up; he’d never stoop so low as to kick a man while down.

Once Pileta had regained his footing, however, all was fair game. He lunged forward to grab ahold of Wade’s waiting wrist, bringing them both chest to chest as they backed up into the nearest perimeter of the ring. Wade tossed himself back at the same moment Peter leaned in to guide the throw. His gloved hand came up to connect with Pileta’s red and black back, giving the illusion of control. That lasted for all of a second before Wade kicked out a leg to flip their stances and reversed the whip on Peter. Their locked wrists launched him towards the ropes instead of Wade.

They had practiced this. It was expected.

What was not expected was how fast everything seemed to be happening now that they were performing in front of millions of fans. It was as though time had sped up, and he narrowly forgot to turn and catch himself on the ropes. Peter waited until Pileta rushed at him to throw a high kick that appeared to catch the other wrestler on the side of the head. The sound had actually come from Peter slapping his naked thigh, but the fake out would have happened so fast that only a trained eye could tell where it had come from.

Wade sold the hit too, spinning in place as though dazed. He did a full circle only to see Spider-Man’s foot kick out at him again. Peter’s leg had been aimed at Wade’s chest this time, in an attempt to bring the big man down for good, but the move was interrupted when Pileta de Muerto caught him by the ankle. The jerky nature of the hold had Spider-Man hopping ungainly on one foot out of the corner to maintain his balance. He had no choice but to follow the rest of his leg forward as Pileta reeled him in like a fish on a hook.

This had been practiced too.

Wade swiftly brought a knee up to tap Peter in his lower abdomen. To everyone else it would look like a low blow and without a referee to monitor the activity going on in the ring, only the crowd could judge what happened based on how well both parties sold the act.

Peter crumpled around Wade’s knee and allowed himself to be flung into the opposite turnbuckle. His back slammed into the metal, and he winced, trying to ignore the very real ache of stainless steel biting into his back. It seemed real enough for the audience watching to start a new round of boos at Pileta de Muerto.

The other man drank it up, arms raised and gesturing at them all for more.

Eventually getting his fill, Pileta took off to smash Spider-Man into the steel support once again. His weight was heavy but expected.

Now it was time for Peter to get to work.

Spider-Man remained motionless in the corner, allowing Pileta to attempt a second body slam. As he made to attack again, he was met with the unpleasant feeling of Spider-Man’s outstretched foot crashing into his chest. Wade threw himself down onto the mat, gripping where he’d been _wounded_ and pretending to wheeze for air.

One last chance to garner favor with the crowd.

Spider-Man took Pileta’s defenselessness as the opportunity to set up for a top rope maneuver. He’d just finished scaling the corner of the ring when Pileta dove forward to jostle the ropes under the precarious hero and ensure he lost his footing. Spider-Man knocked his own leg off the nylon rope and dropped to land on the space where his thigh and groin met. It should look like a painful fall to an outsider, but the worst thing Peter felt next to his cup was the press of nylon rope against shorts. He still reached down and pretended to be in agony to gain sympathy from the spectators in the stadium.

While Wade continued pandering to the crowd and waving off their disapproval, Spider-Man made an effort to recover from his _injury_.

As he righted himself, Pileta de Muerto stalked over and positioned both of Spider-Man’s legs onto his shoulders. Taking a few steps away from the turnbuckle, he spun them around to face the middle of the ring. When they’d practiced this before at Al’s, Wade had always given a brief pause to allow for Peter to start the move when he was good and ready. Now though, there wasn’t really time to think about how they were going to pull this off.

There was only time to do.

Spider-Man clenched his thighs and tipped backward to pull and twist Pileta de Muerto along with him. His unique flexibility ensured he was able to complete the hurricanrana without injury. He just hoped the other wrestler was all right enough to get back up quickly.

Pileta’s expressionless mask stared back at him as Peter got up to stand and celebrate the success of the move in front of the crowd. He raised an arm to the ceiling, which earned him a passionate round of applause. The cheering was cut short when Peter got a very large boot to the spine.

From there, he was manhandled into another corner and spun back around.

Weasel had talked about incorporating this into their routine at Al’s gym, but Wade had refused to practice it on him then. After the first backhand chop that cracked Peter across his unclothed chest, he almost wished he had insisted Wade let him experience it in a more controlled setting first. At least then he’d have known what it was going to feel like.

Of course every wrestler had been on the receiving of this move at some point or another in their career, but no one at the academy or in the semi-pro division had ever hit him as hard as Pileta de Muerto did. The strike was very real and stung so badly that Peter’s eyes watered. Even if their contest was supposed to be fake, he had to take a moment to wonder if Wade was using this as a means of exacting revenge on him for all the mistakes he’d made the first night they’d met.

He really hoped not and braced himself for a second chop that was followed up with a chorus of whoops from the crowd. An injured noise escaped his lips as air was forcefully ejected from his lungs again, and his knees gave out under him shortly after that.

He didn’t even get a moment to recover before Pileta de Muerto picked him up off the mat and flung him towards the adjacent ropes. As soft as they looked, the heavy nylon material hardly contained any give. On his return, he crashed into Pileta’s knee. Peter knew what was coming next and just let it happen. At this point, he was too hurt to do anything more than bend forward and let Wade do all the work.

Pileta’s gloved hands wound around Spider-Man’s waist, slipping him up underneath his opponent’s right arm. There was a quick squeeze, another signal to alert Peter to prepare. He gritted his teeth and bent his knees to push off from the ring’s mat and to help Wade heft him up and over onto the big man’s right shoulder. He felt his weight teeter for the slightest second as his point of view turned sideways.

A sea of a million eyes greeted him and then came the drop.

When Peter had first met Wade back at Al’s, he had tried his best to perform this move as carefully as possible. After all, the only reason they’d failed initially was because of Peter’s initial nervousness to work with one of his idols.

Every time they’d practiced it since though, Wade had remained perfectly in control of his movements, every reset almost mechanical, but never telegraphing the intention to do real serious harm. Tonight, however, was a completely different story.

Peter felt the full stop radiate down his spine to each and every nerve ending as his neck jerked sharply from a lack of support when Wade dropped to one knee. As soon as Wade let him go, tumbling off his shoulder and down onto his outstretched knee, an aching sensation began to radiate from Peter’s neck down to his upper back. It felt like he’d just finished spending an entire evening [ headbanging to Slayer](https://metalinjection.net/news/slayers-tom-araya-misses-headbanging).

It sucked.

Peter writhed on the mat, his uncovered mouth open and gasping for air caused by the sensation of very real pain.

The fans around them definitely didn’t like seeing this unknown hero they had just started rallying behind in such a state and made their displeasure known loudly. Wade might have been laughing under his mask at their reactions with the way he skipped merrily around the ring, twirling here and there as he continued to make a mockery of their anger.

Peter ignored him and tried to roll over onto his side, doing everything in his power to ignore the ache that had settled deep in his muscles.

He was about halfway there when a red and black boot toed him over onto his back again. The weight of Pileta de Muerto’s foot on his sternum felt like a hundred pounds of lead and had Peter struggling to breathe. Immediate panic crept over him, and he scrambled to get his hands under the heel of Wade’s boot to try and alleviate some of the pressure.

Was Wade actually trying to hurt him? He’d never been this aggressive before during any of their practice sessions, excluding the very first one. Why was he starting now!? Peter grimaced as he continued to work fruitlessly to force Wade off of him.

A black and white striped figure suddenly cut into his line of vision and there was shouting all around. Peter shut his eyes and put all of his strength into one final shove. The pressure on his chest instantly relented and air had never tasted so good.

His struggle might have only lasted a minute or less but even that was one minute too long for Peter. He rolled away from his opponent and tried to get back onto his hands and knees, anything he could do to stop feeling so helpless.

He didn’t want to believe Wade was capable of being cruel, that was not the man Peter thought him to be. Maybe they could talk about this after they were out of the ring. This way Peter could confirm that all of the hard knocks had been accidental, or on par with Peter’s own botches caused by nerves.

Gwen had even said that Wade might be nervous the other night when they’d talked over cheap soft serve. He was sure that Wade was just as invested in this match’s success as he was.

He wanted… no, Peter needed to believe that.

Peter used the ropes to pull himself up to his feet. The crowd started chanting, but he couldn’t make it out, too distracted by Pileta de Muerto and the referee arguing. It was about time the man got back in the ring, Peter just needed to finish this match and then they could talk.

He brought his gloved hand up to wipe away the spittle that had managed to drip out of his panting mouth. His moment would come when Wade turned around and then- _there!_

Peter charged the short distance across the ring to take a swing at Pileta de Muerto’s masked head. Spider-Man was supposed to miss and get turned around for a set up into a [ belly to back suplex](https://youtu.be/NojPtq5V7FI?t=205). Sure enough, Pileta dipped under the punch, allowed Peter to spin on his heel, and threw both arms around his middle. There was a pause. Wade was waiting for Peter to clap both of his hand down atop his own before they performed the move.

The fact that he was still allowing Peter to control some of their movements was a relief. They both crouched down to fuel a pop up for the pseudo-suplex. Wade used all of his upper body strength to flip Peter completely over himself. He took the back bump while Peter continued the flip to land flat on his feet, arms spread out to push himself back into a standing position.

Peter sold the maneuver further by backpedaling until he hit a ring corner. Pileta got up off the mat, turned around, and didn’t hesitate to charge at Spider-Man in presumed retaliation. Peter waited until the last second possible before twirling out of the way so that Wade could run himself into the metal post.

Before he even gave Pileta the chance to recover, Peter grabbed the top rope nearest him and used the support to snap a high kick to the back of the other wrestler’s masked head. His hand clapped down on his thigh again to resonate as the contact, and Pileta de Muerto went down.

Using the reprieve as a chance to set up for another attack, Peter stepped out through the middle ropes. He threw an arm up to gain support from the crowd and started his climb to the top rope. As he steadied himself in a crouched position on the turnbuckle, he waited for his opponent to roll into place. This was it, this was his finisher. This was going to represent who he was supposed to be from now on to all of his fans. The moment had finally come and somehow a regular shooting star press just seemed mediocre.

Spider-Man shouldn’t be remembered for a fancy belly flop.

Peter released the ropes and stood up.

The crowd went wild. Top ring moves were the most dangerous and the most impressive. He took one last breath and swung his arms down and back to propel his jump. Spider-Man sprung off the ropes, tucking all of his limbs in and twisting a full one hundred and eighty degrees to the right as his back went completely parallel with the ground below before he unfurled and corkscrewed mid-air to land chest to chest with Pileta de Muerto.

He almost wished he could have seen Wade’s face in that moment, but he needed to make the pin.

Peter reached for one of Wade’s kicked up legs and rolled on top of him to keep the hold in place. The ref slid right in the moment he hooked Wade’s leg and started the count. All the fans around the ring joined in for the final one, two, three! And the bell rang out.

It ought to have seemed silly since the match hadn’t been sanctioned, but Peter felt a surge of pride race through him just the same at having completed his very first televised match. It might not have been perfect, the moves might have hit harder in real life than in practice, but now it was over and done with.

Peter’s theme music blasted in the background, and he let the referee raise his hand in celebration. The stands boomed behind him, repeating his name from the jumbotron that flashed over the ring.

 _Spider-Man, Spider-Man,_ they chanted. Peter had never felt such a rush in his life.

At the semi-professional promotional matches, there was always a small break in between fights for the wrestlers to transition in and out of the ring. Here, however, just like Star-Lord had snuck out so stealthily before, Wade managed to roll out under the ropes and was in the process of dragging himself up the entrance ramp to disappear into the backstage area.

Peter allowed the ref to showcase Spider-Man to the crowds all around the ring a minute or two longer before taking his hand back and slipping out of the ring himself. He high-fived a few outstretched hands on his way back up the ramp and gave one final fist pump before ducking behind the curtains hanging below the titantron.

Gwen was waiting for him, clapping her hands together as she rushed up to pull him into a hug.

“AHHHHH OHMIGOD YOU WERE SO AMAZING! I can’t- you really- AHHHHH!!!”

She wasn’t particularly strong or anything but all of the injuries Peter had sustained in ring complained at the gesture despite how good it felt to be congratulated.

“Hey, Gwen, ow, I gotta-” he whipped his head around in search of a familiar red and black covered wrestler.

Pileta was nowhere to be found. Peter stepped back from Gwen and held her at an arm’s length. “Have you seen P-D-M?”

She tilted her head at him. “No? We’re celebrating you right now, I can’t believe you changed your finisher like that at the last second! It was so amazing, but _also so_ dangerous! You could’ve hurt yourself or-”

“I know,” Peter tried to placate her, reaching up with one hand to undo the snaps under his chin, releasing some of the pressure from his mask. He felt too hot even without a shirt on and wanted to get out his wrestling gear and into a shower, but there was still something else he had to do first. “Gwen, I really need to know if you’ve seen Pileta.”

“Well,” she finally conceded, “he was just here a second ago. I’d assume he was headed to his dressing room like a normal person would after a match?”

Peter nodded in thanks before pointing left and right behind Gwen; a silent gesture asking which way. She nodded her head to the left and didn’t say another word as Peter took off down the long hallway. He promised himself that he’d let her chastise him to her heart’s content later. Right now, the lesson wasn’t going to stick; he was too fixated on clearing the air between him and Wade.

As he came to another intersection at the end of the hallway, he found the person he was looking for. Pileta was accepting a bag of ice from Weasel and the two were leaning near a wall of vending machines. Weasel saw him first and nudged at Wade, who had appeared to have rolled up the bottom of his mask. His hand shot up to replace it over his chin and something about the action troubled Peter for a reason he couldn’t really pinpoint.

“Can we help you, little boy?” Weasel sassed, stepping away from the wall first with his hands on hips. “Don’t you have someplace else to be right now other than up my ass, annoying me?”

Peter paid Weasel no mind and turned to Wade. He stuck his hand out, waiting for a shake. They would still need to address what had gone down in the ring, how some of those hits hadn’t been pulled correctly, but right now Peter wanted to extend his sincerest gratitude to Wade, and by some extension Weasel, for what had been done in consideration of him.

If Spider-Man was even the least bit popular after tonight, it was due to the hard work and effort Pileta de Muerto had put in along with Peter’s own.

“Awww, isn’t he cute? He thinks this is like kindergarten where everyone makes friends with everyone else and then goes and plays around in the ring during recess. Hey, I got news fer ya-”

Wade brought a hand up to cut Weasel off mid-sentence.

“What do you want?” He asked, shifting the ice from one shoulder to the other.

“I…” Peter couldn’t seem to remember what he’d wanted to say. There had been this whole grand speech in his head leading up to his moment and suddenly none of it mattered anymore. “I just wanted to thank you. For everything. Tonight’s success is mostly because of you, and I just want you to know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

He kept his hand out, waiting for the gesture to be returned.

It was slow coming.

“Weas?” Wade called out, never breaking eye contact with Peter even if it was hard to tell where either of them were looking with opaque material covering both of their eyes. Peter felt the stare and refused to turn away or let anything else outside this moment distract him.

“Yeah, P?”

“Leave.”

“Wha- ‘scuse me, I must’ve been deaf for a second, do what now!?”

“Leave,” Wade repeated, his mouth shifting under his mask. He pushed away from the wall, reached out, and slipped his gloved hand into Peter’s own. They didn’t shake, just held the connection as Weasel stepped away from them, muttering under his breath about how silly this whole shake and make up nonsense was.

Once he was gone, Wade tightened his grip and yanked Peter forward to slam him bodily into the wall behind them. The bag of ice that had been resting on Wade’s shoulders flew off and crackled against the tile floor, bursting open from the impact. Peter cried out when his sore back collided with the painted cinder block, only continuing to stand because Wade held him there.

The now familiar red and black mask pressed up against his own, and Peter swore he could taste Wade’s breath.

“What do you want?” He repeated the same line as before with more malice.

“I-” Peter choked, fighting every instinct of his not to claw at Wade’s hand. This wasn’t how he’d envisioned their talk going in his head. They were supposed to shake and call it a night, maybe agree to meet up at a later date outside of the ring to train again. Peter had really enjoyed working with Wade the week before even if they’d hardly shared more than a handful of words.

This was one of his heroes; he’d always admired Wade’s skill behind the mask and there was still so much more to this man that he wanted to know.

“I just wanted… t-to thank yo-”

A harsh bark of laughter interrupted him. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do!” Peter struggled to get out, his tiptoes barely supporting any of his weight on the ground beneath them.

“I tried to _hurt_ you back there. I _wanted_ you to suffer! I wouldn’t have given a damn if you got injured! You have no business thanking me for anything!” Wade growled at him, his voice an aggressive timbre Peter had never heard before.

“You shouldn’t thank me anyway,” he added while looking away. “That finisher was all you.”

Wade slowly released his grip on Peter’s neck and allowed the other man to slip back down onto his own two feet. Involuntarily, Peter’s hand shot up to soothe the bruising ache at the base of his throat.

“You don’t want to be nice to me, kid,” he breathed, his voice a low hum in the quiet of the hallway. “Stay away from me unless it’s for work.” With that, Wade stomped off in the same direction Weasel had gone in earlier.

Peter could only watch him leave until he disappeared around another corner and then his legs gave out once more. He slid down the wall, his rump hitting the ground with a soft thud. It didn’t even hurt, though it should have. Right now something in his chest ached even more. Wade wanted nothing to do with him outside of the ring unless it was work-related, and Peter’s brain could not compute.

He put his head back into his gloved hands, a newly formed habit as of late, and tried not to let all of his hopes melt away like the ice on the floor next to him.

How was he going to make this right now? What could he possibly do?

He clenched his hands into fists.

Peter refused to give up.


	4. DDT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A DDT is any move wherein a wrestler has their opponent in a front facelock or an inverted headlock and falls down or backwards to drive the opponent's head into the mat. Although widely credited as an invention of Jake Roberts, who gave the DDT its famous name, the earliest known practitioner of the move was a Mexican wrestler named Black Gordman. Random trivia fact, in an interview later in his career, Jake Roberts stated that the move’s acronym comes from the chemical dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane, a notorious pesticide infamous for its harmful environmental impact.

* * *

  
The best thing about finally getting on the main roster, Peter realized, was that he got two days off after every televised match. It was equal parts good and bad; his body had taken a pretty extensive beating the other night at Wade’s _very intentionally_ heavy hands.

Thankfully, the vast majority of redness around his neck and chest had dissipated overnight. Small miracles. A lavender bruise had begun blossoming on the upper left side of his back from repeatedly slamming into things though, and he hoped it wouldn’t interfere with his training that was scheduled to resume again tomorrow.

After Wade had left him in the backstage hallway of the arena on the floor, he’d taken a few minutes to compose himself before heading back to Gwen. She hadn’t questioned him further about his unusual fixation with Pileta de Muerto since they’d shared details about their past selves over late night ice cream.

Having someone else vindicate his dream, prove that he wasn’t just wasting his time with a silly fantasy, had been so cathartic. Peter could still remember a fiery redhead who’d shamed him for wanting to do something different with his life instead of following the cookie cutter aspiration of their fellow classmates. Going to college and getting a steady, boring full time job like everyone else in his old high school’s graduating class was not for him.

 _All of those feelings should stay in the past,_ he told himself, and got up to get dressed for the day. Gwen was going to be joining him for lunch shortly. Today was supposed to be his treat since he’d just gotten his first official paycheck and together they would go over some of the new upcoming match details being drafted by the writers.

His debut was only the beginning, a teaser to the MMW fans. Now he’d have to continue to prove himself worthy of appearing on the main roster once a week, not to mention any of the additional events he might be carted off to in the interim like promotional and charity gatherings.

After a quick shower, his phone buzzed with a notification that Gwen was on her way. A tea emoji followed her text, making him smirk. It was great to have a friend again.

Living in Miami now didn’t feel nearly as lonely as it had when he’d first agreed to move here. Peter was glad he’d chosen to follow through with this opportunity because not only was he officially living out his dream, he was also working to create a better life for himself and his aunt.

Gwen arrived fifteen minutes later, honking in the parking lot at an odd rhythm that Peter eventually identified as the beat to his Spider-Man theme. He raced down the stairs as soon as he realized, nearly forgetting to shut his front door as he hurried.

“Gwen, no! BAD!” He ran and yanked the passenger door of her car open. “Normal people live here! You can’t do stuff like that!”

“Phfft, Peter,” she laughed at him. “Live a little. Most of the people in this dumpy complex aren’t ever going to see you again in a few weeks.”

_What._

“You heard me,” Gwen said as she gestured for Peter get in the car and sit down. He didn’t even realize he’d said that out loud.

“You mean…?”

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, her smile almost cat-like. “If you can stay in good standing for the rest of the month, you’re gonna get an upgrade like [ the Jeffersons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYcqToQzzGY). Much closer to downtown and with a nice view of the east coast. Peter!” she squealed at the prospect. “You’ll be closer to me!”

“Is that code for you’re moving yourself into my new deluxe apartment in the sky?”

“Heck yes!” she didn’t even hesitate to answer. “Better save some of that couple thousand dollar paycheck you just got for a sweet couch because it’s about to become casa de Gwen Stacey!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Peter chuckled as he buckled himself in. “Where we headed?”

Gwen's evil smirk should have tipped him off.

“Oh no,” Peter groaned. “Not healthy food again.”

“Oh yes!” she cackled as they peeled out of the parking lot.  
  


* * *

  
“So yeah, that’s basically gonna be next week’s story li-” Gwen caught Peter playing with his salad. Likely she knew he wasn’t the most agreeable eater now that they’d had to change his diet around, but it was definitely important he work on developing good eating habits if professional wrestling was going to be his career for the foreseeable future. He would try to work on it more when she couldn’t be there to mother him. His inattention now, however, was caused by something else entirely.

“Peter.”

He didn’t notice she was talking to him.

“EARTH TO PETER, THIS IS HOUSTON, DO YOU READ ME?”

He jumped at that.

“Oh, yeah, sorry Gwen, you were saying about next week’s matches?”

Gwen rolled her eyes and stuffed another bite of her salad into her mouth. “I’ve been talking to you about that for the past five minutes. Where’d you go, space cadet? Is this gonna be a normal thing for you now?”

Peter dropped his fork and stared down at his hands guiltily. He shrugged but didn’t directly answer her question. Gwen sighed heavily and placed her own fork to the side to show she was focused on the conversation at hand.

“Look,” she told him evenly, “I wasn’t going to pry into whatever it is that went down between you and P-D-M, but you haven’t really been yourself since that first practice. And before you go off and tell me I don’t know what _normal you_ is like, I got to work with you for a whole week before you went all [ teenage angst](https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/yMlphlC87zV0iOu6icw1je6lg4E=/0x0:800x440/1400x788/filters:focal\(336x156:464x284\):format\(gif\)/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/54622157/gif.0.gif) on me. What’s really bothering you, Peter? You know you can tell me, right?” She reached over and placed her hand on top of his reassuringly.

He nodded, still not saying anything.

“Well, anyway,” she reached back down to pick up her fork and continued eating. “At the end of you’re next match, you’re gonna be facing Black Cat in the ring.”

Peter had picked a poor time to take a sip of his water, nearly choking on it when Gwen dropped the female wrestler’s name.

“WHAT!? Ho- why!?”

Gwen just stared blankly at him over her food. “Because she and Pileta were the mixed tag champions from last season, and you embarrassed her ex-partner on live television yesterday with your stunning debut? Did you not hear any of what I was talking about after I dropped Pileta de Muerto’s name?”

Slack-jawed, Peter sat back in his seat with both arms braced against the table. “I… I guess not,” he confessed, a small blush tinging the tops of his cheeks. “Sorry, Gwen.” His apology was sincere, so she appeared willing to let it slide.

“You know, I’m really surprised you’re not more excited to talk about what happened yesterday evening. You were really something, ya know? I’m still floored by that corkscrew shooting star press you pulled out of your butt on the fly. Were you always this amazing or did it take live television to finally make you brave?”

Peter’s blush deepened as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Well,” he began and faltered a little. “I didn’t want Spider-Man to be remembered for something as basic as a front flip. Anyone can do that. You guys were giving it your all to make sure I was successful, and I just wanted to live up to that expectation.”

“And then some,” Gwen hummed at him. He just nodded and went back to playing with his salad, pushing the leftover bits of lettuce through the dressing until everything was more soupy than crisp. “Hey, you got any other gimmicks I should know about?”

He smiled at that. It was sweet of her to change the subject after she realized he was steadily becoming uncomfortable. “Are you still on about the ‘thwip?’ That was a one time thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she reasoned. “You know some other professional wrestlers have gag props and what not. Did you forget about the time when Cap was rocking his silly shield for real? Oh, oh, or the time Thanos had his _Gauntlet of Infinity!_ ” Gwen even did the hand motions, and they both burst into a fit of laughter.

“I still think it was hilarious he could snap his fingers and all the other wrestlers had to freeze in place.”

“See? That’s what I mean! Everyone needs something for comedic value. People love when you’re yourself, and it’s okay to be funny. I bet we could even work out a way to get you some real webs in your gloves, even if you only use ‘em for special events like a pay-per-view.”

“Wouldn’t those have to be specially made?” Peter said around his straw before taking a sip from his drink as she nodded. “I don’t know if I could afford something like that right now, I’ve still gotta send some money back to my aunt,” Peter reasoned.

Gwen just smiled in that lop-sided way that showed she’d been thinking about it for some time before she even bothered to disclose all she had in mind. “I might know a guy who knows a guy,” she confided. “In fact, said guy might already be watching a YouTube upload of your match and thinking about creative ways to get you _web-slinging_ as we speak!”

Peter gaped. “You didn’t!”

“Happy debut,” she congratulated him. “You’ve worked hard and deserve a reward! Of course, some things do come with a price.”

“Gwen,” Peter groaned, giving up on his salad entirely and shoving the remains away from himself. “Are you sure you’re not my aunt?” he deadpanned, arms coming up to cross defensively over his chest.

“Listen, Peter, I promised myself I wasn’t going to pry unless it interfered with your work. And this is interfering with your work… kinda. Don’t give me that look, I’m just worried! What happened between you two?” And then she leaned in, speaking in a more hushed tone, deeply laced with concern, “He didn’t… he didn’t hurt you again, did he?”

Peter shook his head even though he knew that wasn’t wholly telling the truth. Wade had explicitly told him that he’d been _trying_ to hurt him. There was no denying that now. But in spite of all that, it just proved to Peter that Wade was human too. His initial hostility towards Peter made something in him burn with a desire to justify that the other man’s first impressions of him were wrong versus its intended effect of driving him away.

Looking at his feelings introspectively, it didn't seem to make a whole lot of sense. Gwen’s concern wasn’t unfounded, logically. If he saw someone he knew and cared about continue to play around with fire after being burned once, he’d probably be worried too.

“I meant what I said about disappointing him. I don’t think I can continue to work in a place where one of my own heroes hates me.”

“Did you tell him that?”

Peter shook his head. “I mean… I _tried_ to, but he told me to stay away from him first.”

“Hmmmm, but you’re not gonna listen to that are ya?”

Peter flashed her a weak smile. “Nope.”

“You really are a glutton for punishment, huh? Well, it’s not uncommon for certain wrestlers to get into real feuds behind the scenes. You know, Bucky Barnes hated Steve Rogers for a couple months back in 2014 when they first met. Then they fought through their stupidity and are now the tag team champions, so I mean, anything is possible, right?”

Peter shrugged.

“Everyone in this company has to see and work with one another on a semi-frequent basis. So, what I guess I’m saying is, I don’t think it’s wrong of you for wanting to try and work things out with Pileta so that you two can maintain a good working relationship. Were there any other conditions to his _keep out_ other than no Peter’s allowed?”

That earned her a glare.

“What!?”

“You know what you did.” Peter pointed at her accusingly but then sagged back into his seat, sighing in defeat. “I’m not allowed to be near him unless it’s for work.”

“So if you two happen to meet up and it’s strictly work-related; no harm, no foul?”

“Gwen,” Peter warned her wearily. He could practically see all seven of the gerbils that powered her overactive imagination spinning in their wheels. She then proceeded to whip out her phone and shoot off a quick text to some random number.

“What’re you doing, Gwen?”

The whites of her teeth took on a particularly evil glint as she flashed them his way. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Her phone chimed a second later and was followed by more tapping to forward the text she’d received to Peter’s phone. It went off in his pants pocket, the vibration making him jump in his seat.

Fishing out his cell, he swiped it open to see a date and time in his message preview.

“Wha-”

Gwen winked at him. “Just be at Al’s at that date and time.”

“But it’s after hours. She always threw me out after ten o’clock!”

A finger waggled in his direction as Gwen made to stand up and collect their trash. “Just trust me on this Peter, I haven’t steered you wrong yet!”

“Debatable,” Peter told her, getting up to take the trays from her like a true gentleman. Even if she hip checked him by the waste containers, he didn’t take it personally  
  


* * *

  
A few days later, Peter was in front of Al’s Gym again, stepping out of his share ride. It was a couple minutes passed one in the morning. True to Gwen’s word, the gym building didn’t look empty. Lights that Peter was sure he’d seen Al turn off before appeared to be on at the back of the gym. He looked down at the text again on his phone, thanked his driver, and readjusted his duffle on his shoulder.

“Deep breath,” he told himself, approaching the door and half expecting it to be locked. The ultimate cosmic joke, he thought, wasting twenty dollars on a ride over here only to be denied entrance by one of the most basic security precautions known to man, a deadbolt.

But the door opened easily in his hand, a familiar automatic chime gave away his presence the second he stepped inside. There was a loud clicking sound, heavy weight resetting to a resting position in between a rep.

“You picked a bad night, buddy,” came a voice behind the corner wall. That familiar rumbly baritone could be no one else. Peter sucked in another breath, but his lungs forgot what to do with it.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to see your trespassing ass outta here before I have to come over there and open a [can of whoop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-9nmqN2Bag&feature=youtu.be&t=10) on it.” The weight clinked a second time.

“Two.”

Another metallic clink.

“Four.”

The weight went down heavy a final time followed by a grunt.

“¿No hablas ingles? Pinche cabrón…”

Then came the footsteps, and Peter suddenly remembered how to swallow. There was an audible gulp as he watched the form of Pileta- no, there was no mask covering him this time, that was Wade, round the corner. What had started as an indignant look of irritation quickly morphed into one of terrified revulsion. Wade had only just set foot into the light of the entryway when he leapt back as though burned.

Peter wasn’t quite close enough to make out all of the details that comprised Wade’s skin, but there was definitely something strange going on from the waist up… or at least what Peter could see of Wade without his shirt on. In spite of the unusual patterns of scarring that seemed to cover both of Wade’s arms, his torso, and random sections of his face, the most shocking thing of all that Peter focused on were his piercing blue eyes.

The heat from his gaze cut into Peter.

Whatever he was feeling must have been conveyed in the way he looked at Wade because the man hurriedly turned away from him a second later, cursed softly under his breath, and stomped back around the corner.

Wade’s retreat called Peter to action. His feet carried him further into the gym before he could think better of it, forgetting that _he_ was the one trespassing. As he stepped around the same corner Wade had disappeared behind, Peter finally saw the whole of his hero close-up under bright fluorescent lights. He looked as built as he always did in his wrestling attire, shoulders wide and menacing with muscles flexing as he fought to slip into an oversized red sweatshirt that had been tossed haphazardly onto nearby equipment.

Before he could cover himself up completely, Peter took note of all the little textured scars that ran up from Wade’s broad back and wrapped around his neck before trailing down the backs of both his arms. He didn’t look to have a single hair on his head; the skin there also somewhat disfigured. It occurred to Peter that these might be the reason Wade usually hid himself behind a full bodysuit. He’d probably been in some kind of accident and was self-conscious about his appearance.

Things were finally starting to make sense.

Two equally scarred hands, the flesh slightly discolored in small patches, brought the hood of the sweatshirt up and over Wade’s head, cutting off the rest of Peter’s view. There was the telltale sound of a zipper being pulled up and then Wade was walking towards the nearest wall. His ungloved hands fiddled with a light switch that caused dimmed the lights significantly. When Wade turned around to face Peter again, nearly all of his face was hidden in shadow. Wade’s eyes had darkened considerably in the absence of light, nearly black and animalistic as they reflected back at Peter.

He stalked up to Peter fast and grabbed him by the neck of his shirt. It was a now familiar reaction from Wade, so Peter half expected to be slammed into the closest object any second now. Wade surprised him this time, however, by keeping him an arm’s length away and merely shaking him for emphasis while he spoke.

“Why. Are you. Here?” he growled, the fastener on his sweatshirt clinking against the metal teeth of the zipper and sliding down to reveal even more scarring along Wade’s neck and collarbones. Peter’s eyes drifted down and immediately back up when he felt Wade tighten his grip.

“WHAT’RE YOU STARING AT!?”

 _Yep_ , Peter thought, _instant regret_. At least now he knew he wasn’t wrong that previous assumption.

“I-I… I didn’t mean-”

“No one comes here at one in the morning for _no reason._ If you came here expecting some kind of apology, I’m not gonna tell you _I’m sorry_ …”

Peter fought against the instinct to bring his hands up and remove Wade’s own. Something inside told him it would only make matters worse, and he had come here tonight to right all the wrongs between them. So, instead, he clenched both of his hands down at his sides and shut his eyes before picking up the verbal shovel to begin digging his own grave.

“You told me to not be around you unless it was for work. Well,” he took a deep breath before continuing, “I’m here to work.”

His words were met with an eerie silence. Peter peeked opened his eyes just in time to catch Wade laughing, right in his face.

“What kind of crazy ass bull-? This ain’t some kind of fast food joint where you stand around and wonder how I can help you! I’m not here to train you; you have a coach for that.” Wade let go of Peter and abruptly turned away from him again.

Now that they’d gotten past the hardest part, starting the conversation, approaching Wade a second time wasn’t nearly as difficult as the first.

“Look, I know I let you down the first time we trained together. That’s on me.” Peter continued to clench and unclench his fists at his sides as he spoke. If this was his one chance, he had to take it. “But, as far as I’m concerned, we’re even now,” he reasoned. “I’m not here to ask you to apologize for not pulling your punches, and I’m not here so that you can tell me you’re sorry either.”

Wade didn’t say anything while Peter talked, though his shoulders had briefly hitched at the mention of his prior indiscretions in the ring. He’d been aware of it too then, how fundamentally wrong it was to punish someone for something they’d done after the fact.

Peter refused to allow himself to linger on that. If he continued to take it personally, they’d always be stuck at this impasse, never able to get beyond this moment.

He kept going.

“If I’m gonna be a part of this company, we’re going to have to learn to work together whether we like it or not. And, in my opinion, you’re one of the best in this business. I wanna get on that same level with you, but you don’t wanna be around me unless it’s for work. So let’s do it then.”

Peter thrust his hand out as a peace offering, “Let’s work.”

Nothing happened. And for a moment, Peter felt a sense of dread overcome him; he’d failed at this miserably, too. But before he could overanalyze where he’d gone wrong, he heard it; the gravely tone of a hoarse chuckle that grew and grew until Wade had to throw his head back to howl in laughter.

Was this going to become another one of those things with them, like repeatedly getting grabbed by the neck and slammed into hard surfaces? If Peter continued to allow himself to be vulnerable like this only to have Wade openly ridicule him, he didn’t think his fragile ego could handle it… at least not forever. He had to bite his tongue to hold back from demanding what was so funny because he struggled to find the humor in what he’d said. Their whole encounter thus far had made him as anxious as the day he first left New York.

Thankfully, Wade managed to recover before peering over his shoulder to look at Peter. He still hadn’t turned back around fully, but Peter caught sight of his sharp eyes watching him. He felt a shudder run down his spine. How did Wade do that, make him feel like prey, with only a glance?

“You really are something, huh?”

He was taken aback by the comment, and Peter moved to drop his hand, which had been waiting for a handshake that never came. Before he could bring it back to his side, Wade caught it in his own hand.

The man was fast; Peter didn’t get a chance to react to the movement until after Wade had already tightened his grasp on Peter’s wrist. Peter returned the gesture in kind, their grip the same sort of hold one might do if they were setting up to launch their opponent into the ropes.

“I’m no babysitter, little boy,” Wade breathed out. “And if you’re here just to catch a glimpse of this freak show,” his free hand came up to gesture at his face still mostly hidden in the shadows of his sweatshirt, “you can go somewhere else. If you _really_ wanna work, I’m gonna make you regret those words.”

Wade’s fingers tightened one last time before shoving Peter’s hand away and he went back to his weights, facing the other direction the entire time so as to avoid Peter’s gaze.

Shaken by the turn of events and the subsequent offer his tenacity had given him, it took Peter a whole minute to fully process what had just transpired. Was that it? Had it really been that easy? His duffle threaten to slide off his shoulder from the sudden laxness of his shoulders, and Peter fumbled to catch it before all of its contents dumped out on the floor.

“You caught me with my face off,” Wade said to him without moving to turn around as he bent over to retrieve what looked like a hand towel from the seat of a pec deck machine. So that was what he’d been doing when Peter interrupted him.

“Dunno how you knew to come here at this hour,” Wade grumbled and then added under his breath, “but I’ll wring Weas or Al’s neck later.” He began walking in the direction of the locker rooms, not bothering to look at Peter as he kept talking. “Gym’s closed. Come back tomorrow, same time, and maybe we can… _work_ , or whatever.”

Peter shivered at the way Wade had said the word work, like there was some kind of hidden promise buried deep inside that he wasn’t yet privy to. It drew him in and made him want to earn the answer even more.

“S-sure,” he stuttered and resisted the urge to punch himself for sounding so hesitant. Hadn’t he asked for this? Wasn’t it what he’d wanted all along? And why couldn’t he talk right? That last one only ever seemed to happen around Wade lately.

“See you tomorrow then,” Peter tacked on, hoping it sounded more confident. With that, he turned on his heel and headed back in the direction of the main entrance. This was happening; he’d done it.

He pushed the door to Al’s open and stepped out into the night not even aware that Wade had turned to watch him go.  
  


* * *

  
As promised, Peter returned the following evening. This time, when he approached the door to Al’s, he expected it to be unlocked. What he did not expect was Wade, no _Pileta de Muerto_ because the man was wearing his full mask again, to open the door and escort him in.

“Throw yer shit in the locker room and get suited up.” He thumbed Peter over in their general direction before heading back to the free weights section. Peter merely nodded and did as he was told. Even though they’d practiced at Al’s during regular business hours, a handful of times before, everything still seemed pretty much the same despite the ungodly hour. Come to think of it, Peter couldn’t ever recall a time when he’d been here when someone else other than Pileta or their agents were present. Best not to dwell on that now when someone was out there waiting for him. If Peter could stand to say he learned anything from his English Lit class, it was that the story of Alice proved no one ever ended up anywhere good heading down rabbit holes.

Peter traded his street shoes for his wrestling shoes, slid out of his warm-up jacket, and preemptively reapplied deodorant because he truly believed Wade was going to keep his word about making Peter regret asking him to train together. He didn’t bother to wear his mask though. He’d brought it with him yesterday, too, but hadn’t moved to tug it on before entering the gym when he saw that the place looked deserted.

And why shouldn’t it have been? It was way after Al’s usual closing time. Peter could only assume Wade had some backdoor agreement with the owner where she trusted him to be here on his own without supervision.

Kinda reckless, but also sorta cool that Wade believed he didn’t need a spot even though he’d clearly been working with heavy weights. Though, Peter supposed the real reason he chose to workout alone at such an unusually late hour of the night, or early morning depending on how you looked at it, probably had less to do with him having a rebellious streak and more to do with possible low self-esteem. Peter promised himself that he would try to resolve that issue between the two of them in due time. Aunt May had certainly raised him better than to judge a person based solely on their looks.

When he stepped out of the locker room, Peter caught Pileta adjusting the weights on a standard barbell. Peter had done some bench presses back when he’d first enrolled in the wrestling academy, but once his then coach had realized that Peter just wasn’t genetically inclined to bulk up, they’d switched him to another exercise regime. What his new mentor seemed to expect him to do, a deadlift straight up from the mat, was something that had never been asked of him before though.

Maybe Wade thought he looked waifish compared to a typical wrestler because he hadn’t bothered to work hard enough at getting bigger? Peter just hoped the man wouldn’t be disappointed in him when he’d inevitably fail to increase in muscle mass at the end of all of their training sessions just as he had failed to back at the academy.

He continued to watch in silence as more weight was loaded, the equivalent of one hundred and fifty pounds, onto the barbell. His eyes only started to widen in alarm when Pileta added an additional twenty-five to each side of the bar. Had he not implicitly trusted his mentor to spot him in the event of an accident, Peter might have argued the amount of weight Pileta was tossing on as unsafe for someone Peter’s height and weight, who could not admit to having any real prior experience with free weights. The number made Peter slightly nervous, but he anticipated that a good explanation would soon be forthcoming.

Wade stood up to his full height, an impressive 6’4”, and caught Peter’s eye.

“You gonna just stand there or do you plan to warm-up properly first?”

Peter swallowed and began rolling out his shoulders. “I didn’t know if we were going to together or if…” he trailed off, looking up into the nondescript whites of Pileta de Muerto’s mask.

“Already did before you arrived.”

“Oh,” Peter said lamely, bringing one hand up to the back of his neck to rub at the bottom of his hairline. “I’ll just uh,” he motioned at the mats across from where they stood, “get to it then, I guess.”

Pileta didn’t say anything as Peter wandered off to get his muscles warmed up. He clapped both of his hands together and started rotating his wrists in circles, first one way and then the other. After fifteen reps in each direction, he unclasped his fingers and began a series of wide horizontal arms swings. Peter completed ten reps, then switched those up into contralateral vertical arm swings, and finally followed that up with general wide circular arm swings in both directions. Upper trunk rotations came next, and Peter swore he heard his back pop a few times from the movement.

His shoulder and back muscles now pleasantly warmed, he wandered over to a bin containing various grades of resistance bands and choose one about a half inch wide. Peter grabbed near the ends of the band on each side and pulled it far enough apart that he felt a good stretch tug through his entire upper body. He then proceeded to lift the band up and over his head and behind his back as far as the natural resistance of his own joints and ligaments would allow. Ten repetitions later, he brought the band back to his chest to get in a few pull-aparts before Wade stepped behind him.

“Guess you’re not as dumb as you look,” Pileta complimented him. Insulted him? Peter wasn’t sure.

“Well, when you toss two hundred pounds on a barbell, one might suspect there’s going to be some heavy lifting involved,” Peter cooly replied. He brought the band back to a more lax position in front of his chest and turned to look over at Wade. “Unless all of that’s supposed to be for you?”

“Phfft,” Wade scoffed. “Nice try, string bean. That’s all yours.”

“Thought so,” Peter went to return the resistance band to its bin. In doing so, he’d placed himself directly across from his masked trainer.

“Can… can you actually lift all that?” he asked, genuinely curious of the other man’s strength.

Pileta de Muerto scoffed and flexed his fingers; they were completely covered by wrestling gloves. “These guns ain’t just for show,” he muttered before stepping up to the barbell, feet shoulder width apart, and squatting down into a deadlift position. His hands wrapped around the cold metal of the straight bar and then, as quickly as he’d dropped to pick up the weight, Pileta was heaving it up to his chest and over his head as though it weighed practically nothing.

He grunted as he changed positions from standing to a low squat, the weight coming to settle over the back of his neck, before he stood upright and swung the weight in front of himself to drop it down onto the mat. The cast iron weights clanged loudly against the gym floor along with Peter’s jaw.

There was no way he was lifting that as easily as his idol just had. Absolutely no way.

Pileta dusted off his hands and motioned back at the barbell on the ground. “Your turn,” he whispered huskily, almost playful. “If you’re gonna work in this company, you better be prepared to lift grown ass men up to three nights a week.”

Peter gulped and approached the bar.

“I’ve uh... I’ve never tried lifting weights like this before,” he mentioned off-handly as he bent over to experimentally grip the steel. Jeez, the thing felt heavier than anything his old academy coach had tried to force on him back in New York.

“[ Do or do not, there is no try ](https://youtu.be/BQ4yd2W50No?t=19).”

“Did you just quote Star Wars at me?”

“Are you even old enough to know what that is? Lift the damn weight,” was the reply huffed at him.

With a deep breath in and a small prayer to any of the higher powers listening up above, Peter squatted down and gripped the weighted barbell firmly in both hands the same way he’d seen Pileta do before. He vaguely recalled that maxing out weight like this was called powerlifting. It was definitely not something he’d ever imagined he’d be doing at any point in his life, yet here he was attempting to because Pileta de Muerto was asking.

Just as he was about to contract all the muscles in his upper arms to initiate the lift, Pileta swooped around behind him and cut him off.

“Stop! Wrong.”

Peter exhaled and released the barbell. Crisis averted… maybe.

“I’m fuckin’ with you,” Pileta breathed out behind him, the words sending a slight shiver up Peter’s spine. “Just by looking at you, I can tell that’s too much damn weight for a newbie. You don’t even have proper form and what kinda culero would I be to hurt you on purpose?”

Peter bit his tongue to keep silent at that. No more old wounds needed to be reopened. They were moving past that now. For what it was worth, Wade might actually be attempting to train him and properly, it seemed. That had to mean something.

He stepped out of the way and watched as Pileta bent down to begin unfastening nearly all of the weight he’d tossed on. Only about twenty-five pounds remained when he was finished and clamping the guards back onto the ends of the barbell.

“Now then,” Pileta explained, as he stood back up to maneuver alongside Peter. “You’re pretty skinny for the big leagues, personally woulda pegged you for a cruiserweight and not a heavyweight, but sometimes the recruiters see potential better than me.

“You need more strength,” he surmised. “It’s not possible to rely on your partner to carry you every time.”

Peter looked back at Pileta and nodded in agreement.

“So today you’re gonna get started on powerlifting.”

“Uh,” Peter cut in lamely. “What if I told you my last coach at the academy tried weightlifting with me before, but it didn’t work?”

A snort answered him as Pileta de Muerto’s mask scrunched up in what might have been a smirk.

“So you’re gonna train _me_ now?”

“N-no, no! I didn’t- what I meant was,” Peter mentally backpedaled. “I just thought… I don’t want to waste your time?”

“Most coaches focus too much on the appearance of strength, aka bodybuilding,” His mentor answered with a cute little flex of his own big bicep. “Powerlifting, though, is about a strength-to-weight ratio. You don’t look like you put on muscle easily, so it’d be foolish to set you up with the same regime I follow. But I’ll be damned if everyone isn’t strong enough to lift at least 110 percent of their own weight with proper training.”

The material of Pileta’s mask bunched even higher and the tone of his voice was notably ominous. “You’re definitely gonna lift more than that when I’m through with you.”  
  


* * *

  
By the end of their training session, Pileta coached Peter through more than just proper powerlifting techniques. Apparently, Gwen had been babying him and not pushing him up to his utmost limits. After the weight lifting came the aerobic exercises Peter hated the most. Pileta joined him on the mats for squats, lunges, push-ups, and burpees. A twenty minute session on the treadmill followed shortly after and when Peter felt the tread beneath him start to slow down to a jog, he nearly slipped off the machine.

Pileta had yanked him up and told him to drink water throughout the last half of their workout, which also included some high-intensity interval training on a stationary bike. All of Peter’s muscles were screaming when he changed back into his street clothes and stumbled out the front door of Al’s a little after 3 a.m.

Whether or not Wade’s regime was always this tough, or if he’d purposely made it impossible for Peter to keep up, he couldn’t be sure. What Peter did know, was that Gwen had been absolutely right in calling him a glutton for punishment because he ended up coming back the next night, and the night after that, too.

It got so bad that Peter had been physically ill twice and even fallen face first onto the mats during push-ups when his arms finally gave out on him.

“You know… you can quit… if it’s too much,” he heard Pileta chuckle from off to the left. Guy was probably still doing push-ups based on the grunts cutting into his speech. “No one… will think less… of you.” His breathing began to level out; it was plank time. “There’s a reason no one wants to train with… good ‘ol P-D-M.”

Peter shut his eyes, trying to catch his breath in the brief refractory period his shameful collapse afforded him. If he was going to look like a wuss, then he was going to own it.

“C… can’t,” he panted, hot breaths forming condensation against the vinyl coating of the floor mat.

“Oh, you [ Michael Jackson](https://youtu.be/oRdxUFDoQe0?t=81) now? Wanna show me… how funky strong is your fight?”

Peter counted slowly to ten in his head. He didn’t even have the energy to get mad, this time was only for rest.

“C’mon, there’s no point in torturing yourself or me. Just get up, get your things, and we’ll forget you ever tried to-”

“I’m not quitting,” Peter forced out through clenched teeth. “I can’t. I…” he gulped for air and pressed his palms back into the mat to push up into a plank matching Pileta’s. “This is why I’m here.”

His mentor cackled at him. “Really? So that your arms can wiggle like so much spaghetti?”

“Not exactly, ” Peter chuffed a laugh, looking up to stare into the expressionless eyes of the other wrestler’s mask. He definitely wasn’t wrong. With the way Peter’s arms shook from the exertion, it was only a matter of time before he fell and ate questionable-smelling training mat again.

They remained up for a minute longer before Pileta broke the spell and brought his knees up to his chest so that he could sit. “Break time,” his mask crinkled on one side of his mouth, and Peter had never been so grateful. He dropped himself back onto the mat, with a teeny bit more care this time, and closed his eyes again.

He did not expect a water bottle to be pushed into his open hand, and he especially did not expect Pileta de Muerto to come back and join him on the mat. Peter watched his mentor thumb off the cap of his water with one hand and reach up to raise the edge of his mask with the other. He was very careful in covering his skin as he tipped his head back to drink, and Peter noticed he could barely make out any of the scarring around Wade’s neck with his hands positioned like that.

“Drink,” he was told, so Peter looked away and set about opening his own water. Drinking required a bit more finesse, so Peter rolled over onto one side and used his elbow to lift himself up. He brought the bottle to his mouth for a sip, fighting back the incessant urge to make himself sick by chugging the whole thing in one go. Al was probably tired of him throwing up in her trash cans by now anyway.

“Why _are_ you here?” he heard Pileta ask.

The way it was said sounded almost like a rhetorical question, one Peter should have spent more time thinking about the answer to before he opened his mouth. But as of late, it seemed to be his bad habit to speak first and regret later.

“This is… this is my dream,” he stated simply. “This is everything I ever wanted when I was sixteen.”

Another snort.

“Yeah, ‘cuz folks dream about kicking their own asses day in and day out for a paycheck, I bet.”

Peter straightened up and looked right at Wade. His mask was still rolled up, but his free hand had stopped pretending to cover his mouth as he took another swig from his bottle, finishing it all in one go.

“There’s nothing dishonorable about hard work,” Peter staunchly replied.

Great, now he sounded like Aunt May when she’d tried to comfort Peter all those years ago after he’d gotten bullied because he came from a blue-collar working class family. Peter had hated being looked down on for being poor then as much as he hated it now. “As long as I can provide for myself and my aunt, it doesn’t matter what other people think of my job.”

“That’s really the one you’re gonna go with?”

Peter raised a confused eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

“The trope I mean, that you’re not just doing this for yourself but for your poor, sick, or old relative too?” Pileta looked bored as he crushed the empty water bottle in his hand before reaching up to pull his mask back down.

“This isn’t some work of fiction, Wade, this is my life!”

He was so bothered by the other man’s indifference that he didn’t even realize he’d said his real name out loud. It had come naturally, too; the same way you’d reprimand someone you were close to for saying something callous when they were supposed to be supporting you.

Peter half expected Pileta to come back at him with a sharper, even crueler response for his arrogance to think he had the right to chastise someone his senior. Peter was the one being done the favor after all. Pileta de Muerto, _Wade_ , didn’t have to tolerate him beyond their work obligations and, even though their meetings the last few nights were within the scope of their jobs, none of this training together was technically necessary.

But instead of getting defensive and lashing back, the masked man seemed to sink into himself. The bottle he’d crushed in his hand earlier dropped onto the floor next to him, and he couldn’t quite seem to look Peter in the eye.

“You’re right,” he whispered, barely audible. “Everyone’s always right.” Before he could stand back up, Peter’s hand shot out to grab his gloved one; the first real contact they’d shared with one another since the night of their match.

“Hey,” Peter tried to lower the tension that was developing between them. “Look, I just… you were probably trying to make a joke, and I took it too personally. I just… yeah, I do want to do this for my aunt, but I also want to do this for myself, too, you know? Aren’t both reasons good enough on their own?”

And that was the moment when _Wade_ turned to look at him; the moment that Peter finally felt Wade’s eyes _truly see him_ from behind the mask. He didn't just see the person Peter was when he became Spider-Man, although that was a part of who he was too, but the young man who had one day dreamed of doing great things with his life against impossible odds.

Peter tightened his grip reflexively on Wade’s hand.

“Isn’t there something that keeps you going, too?” Peter asked in the quietest voice, genuinely curious what drove his mentor to push himself to be the best in and out of the ring. Wade didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t try to snatch his hand back either. Instead, they sat a few minutes more before Pileta slowly withdrew his hand and stood back up to his full height.

Peter thought he’d made a grave error in questioning Wade and went to retrieve their empty water bottles so that he could clean up on his way to the locker room. Before he could move to stand, Wade surprised him yet again by extending a hand into his field of vision. Peter took the offered help and got back on his feet.

“[Everybody’s got somethin’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dgojzbbDhD4&feature=youtu.be&t=27),” Wade sagely replied, still not quite answering Peter’s question. He turned and motioned his head over at the stationary bikes against the back of the gym. “You still good to keep going or are ya toast?”

That was the first time Pileta had ever bothered to check in on Peter’s condition while they were training, and it felt like how he’d always imagined reconciliation should. “I might still be white bread at this point,” Peter joked.

The odd bunching of material on Pileta de Muerto’s mask was back again.

“We’ll just have to work you harder then.”  
  


* * *

  
The next two sessions they trained together went by more smoothly. Although his new trainer was still adamant on increasing the weights Peter would deadlift, he now appeared more invested in his general well being when they worked out together. If Peter got too shaky or his breathing too labored, Pileta would cut him off and allow him an impromptu break. Peter found didn’t have to push himself to the point of nausea any longer.

It was kinda… nice. This feeling was similar to how Gwen had been coaching him back when he’d first arrived, and it was a much needed reprieve because there was going to be another televised match for Spider-Man later that evening.

“Heard you’re gonna be facing Nova, aka Ant-Man, tomorrow,” Pileta mentioned casually as they were curling free weights, speaking in the same tone someone might use to discuss the weather.

Peter brought his own thirty pound dumbbells down by his sides and eyed Pileta over his shoulder. The man had recently taken to wearing his mask scrunched up over the top of his mouth after Peter had shared those few precious details of his personal life two nights prior. He still wore long sleeves, pants, and of course his gloves, but it was a refreshing change to be able to openly see some of the emotion on Wade’s face through what Peter could read from his lips.

He actually smiled a lot more than Peter initially suspected, though his resting expression often looked more thoughtful as of late. It was a definite improvement over talking to an emotionless, inhuman looking face though, and right now Wade was positively leering.

“Don’t even try to make that battle of the insects joke with me; spiders are not insects! Besides, you know they only call him that because his mask designer botched his alien space invader look.”

Wade cackled.

“Ha ha,” Peter intoned and brought the weights back up in a curl. “Did they tell you who my _real_ opponent is going to be?”

His mentor shook his head and continued his reps. “[I dunno, nobody tells me nothin’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7DvOqDzS80o&feature=youtu.be&t=28).”

“Black Cat.”

“No way,” Pileta choked on a laugh, “so you get to debut against me, beat _ME_ , and then she’s just gonna swoop right in and kick your ass?”

Peter nodded.

“Sounds sexy.”

“Sounds demeaning,” Peter corrected. “I don’t know about you, but my aunt raised me never to hit girls, and Gwen said that the writers didn’t want to script anything between us because they want to see how I work under pressure.”

There was another snort from Pileta. “Don’t worry, ‘Licia’s good people; you’ll like her,” and then in a lower, more knowing tone of voice, he added, “All the boys do, trust me, [her milkshake and all that](https://youtu.be/pGL2rytTraA?t=6). You got anything planned to work with?”

“Well,” Peter did his last rep and set the dumbbells back on the holding rack before reaching for his water and taking a quick swig. “Gwen’s really pushing for me to use these new gloves she had specially made for my character.”

“Oh yeah?” Pileta asked, setting his own weights aside and joining Peter for an impromptu break. Conversation now flowed better between the two of them, and Peter could almost pretend they’d never gotten off on the wrong foot in the first place. After all of these intense workouts he’d joined the other wrestler for, it was even easier to see him as more of a person versus some infallible deity on an untouchable pedestal.

Gwen had been right, again, that behind all of their wrestling personas, every superstar really was just another average Joe. When his mask wasn’t obscuring the whole of his face, Wade was just as much Pileta de Muerto as he was Wade… and he was very human, like Peter.

“Well, you know my gimmick, right?”

“[Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a spider can](https://youtu.be/SUtziaZlDeE?t=10); yeah, I’m pretty familiar.”

“Augh,” Peter groaned and recapped his drink. “Please, never sing that in my presence again.”

Wade cackled and continued to hum the awful tune he’d made up while Peter got up to head over to the treadmills.

“Anyway, she found some guy who’s a costume effects engineer and together they made me a pair of gloves that shoot this… silly string like gunk, and it just feels so juvenile that-”

Wade burst into raucous laughter. Peter could only stand there tapping his foot in mock irritation while the other man worked through his fit.

“Oh shit, that’s rich! I’d take a shot of your _web_ to the face any day for comedic value. Imagine if you sprayed that crap all over Black Cat! That girl will take your ass to court for sexual harassment!”

“Exactly!” Peter threw his arms up in exasperation. “That’s exactly what I told Gwen! The innuendo is totally inappropriate. Kids watch this show!”

That started another round of laughter from Pileta.

“Look, maybe the web slinging _is_ a gag for another day. You’re still new, still feeling out the entirety of your character. Knowing who you are and what you represent takes time. No one really expects a lot from you all at once, least they shouldn’t anyway - hell, [ I didn’t always wear red and black myself](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b5/d9/0a/b5d90a75709fccd575ae92b991d759d9.png). You’ll work through it eventually though, don’t stress.”

Peter just listened and nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Probably!? I’m always right unless there’s someone with two X chromosomes arguing with me.”

“Fair point,” Peter chuckled, thinking fondly of Gwen and his aunt. He promised himself he’d call May before he headed to the airport in the afternoon, just to check in. His next match was going to be held in an arena in Wisconsin; a state Peter had never been to before. Gwen wouldn’t be joining him for the trip, but they’d still be connected via phone. “You’re not going to the next event?”

Wade shook his head, setting his water down and getting up to join Peter on a nearby treadmill.

“Nope,” he popped the P. “They’ve got me doing some promotional conference in the Southwest for the next big pay-per-view event. Gotta wear the suit and look good. Take some photos, sign some autographs, kiss babies, you know, anything to sell out those seats.”

Peter nodded. He did know. Showing off your best stars in strategic ways ensured full houses. It was no different than the semi-pro league sending Peter out into the general public to hand out flyers not so long ago.

They finished their mile run, maybe it was more of a jog, on the treadmill and transferred over to the mats for a cool down. It was weird to sit back and reflect on how foreign this may have been earlier in the week but now it felt familiar and uncomplicated.

Peter grabbed his hand towel to mop up any sweat that had gathered on and around his face from their prior activity. He was going to jokingly offer his sweaty, nasty towel to Wade knowing that the other man wouldn’t have a use for it with his mask still in place, when he heard the recognizable tearing of velcro coming undone.

Pileta de Muerto’s distinctive red and black gloves were tossed down next to Peter’s thigh, his eyes catching the flash of color as they landed soundlessly against the mat.

“¡Mierda! Esta caliente…" Wade groused, his words immediately followed by the rustling of fabric that sounded suspiciously familiar to Peter. He turned his head just in time to witness Wade’s mask come off.


	5. Piledriver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A piledriver is a move where the wrestler grabs his opponent, turns him upside-down, and drops down into a sitting or kneeling position, thereby driving the opponent head-first into the mat. Piledrivers are seen as one of the most dangerous moves in wrestling and, due to this, the move is banned in the WWE and is also banned in many other promotions and certain cities. Two notable exceptions who have continued to use this move as a finisher are Kane and The Undertaker, who have received special permissions due to their experience along with a variation, flip piledriver, performed by Cole and Rey Mysterio.

* * *

  
The moment Wade removed his mask changed everything.

Prior to it actually happening, Peter might have thought Pileta de Muerto would never have trusted him to be privy to such a secret. After all, a masked wrestler’s real face and name were some of the most heavily guarded secrets in the wrestling world.

Under the gym lights, the skin on Wade’s face was similar to the flesh of his hands, an unusual texture that Peter was more familiar with through touch than by sight. It looked nowhere near as bad as Peter had initially suspected, but his overall appearance was so unsettling that Peter could sympathize with Wade’s reasons for being self-conscious. He had suffered a serious injury in the past; there was no mistaking how the odd pattern of contractured and deep scarring all over his face and neck had greatly taken away from whatever beauty he might have once had.

Wade could no longer be considered a handsome man, but his distinctive facial structure combined with the expressiveness of his bright blue eyes were still more than enough to captivate Peter.

And that overt fascination must have shown in the look Peter gave him immediately after Wade removed his mask because he gave Peter a knowing sort of look; one filled with disgust and regret. Wade nervously began fiddling with his mask under Peter’s silent scrutiny, like everything leading up to his decision to unmask himself in front of Peter may have been misinterpreted. He looked as though he’d made a horrible mistake.

But it hadn’t been a mistake to Peter.

From his perspective, Wade offering up his real face was the holy grail of all the possible outcomes Peter could have ever hoped for. This proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that all his past transgressions had finally been set right. Wade’s gesture easily eclipsed any other sort of apology that Peter would have willingly accepted had it been given instead.

No, this meant so much more. This was Wade seeing him as someone who might be his equal some day, someone worthy of witnessing Wade’s own vulnerability, but, most of all, someone whom he could come to trust.

That realization left Peter panicking as the silence dragged on. He fought with himself, trying to think of a way to ensure that this, too, wouldn’t end badly. Peter would never have been able to forgive himself if he ruined what might just be the start of a real and sincere friendship developing between the two of them.

So instead of openly addressing the elephant in the room, Peter attempted to do the one thing he never thought he’d be capable of accomplishing, especially not around one of his many wrestling idols. He squashed down all of the overwhelming feelings he was experiencing at Wade’s face reveal and forced as much unaffected normalcy into the remainder of their encounter as he possibly could. It was the same thing that Gwen had steadily been coaching him on every time he met another big name superstar at MMW. She might even have been proud of him had she witnessed the performance.

But Peter felt like a fraud because in this moment he wanted nothing more than to openly acknowledge how Wade being bare-faced in front of him made him feel. It was like being entrusted with the keys to a city, being given the codes to Fort Knox; Peter’s teenage fanboy heart could barely contain its excitement at the prospect of what this could possibly mean. And sure, Wade’s scars were there, both visible and disconcerting, and Peter knew there had to be some kind of tragic story behind how he got them… but he refused to allow himself to linger on that.

If Wade wanted to share, he would in due time. What mattered the most now was that Wade was finally beginning to _trust_ Peter.

The longer Wade refrained from calling Peter out for acting differently after his mask came off, the more Peter refused to cave and break the act where they continued to pretend that nothing had changed.

Once they finished the rest of their workout, Wade still unmasked, they went their separate ways with little more than a wave and a wish of luck. Peter was scheduled to fly to the Midwest for his next show the following morning, and Wade was scheduled to travel as Pileta de Muerto to promote their company’s next big event in the South.

At that point, they hadn’t traded numbers yet and there would be no further contact over the next few days. It was probably for the best, though, because Peter was starting to feel overly apprehensive of how Wade had taken his feigned apathy. Would he think that Peter was patronizing him, pretending to be unaffected but really laughing at him behind his back? Would he never want to see Peter again unless it was for an assigned match in the ring? Those and other terrible thoughts plagued Peter’s so incessantly that he was unable to find sleep the night before his trip and nearly missed his flight the next day.

After Spider-Man’s alter ego returned from completing his second ever live event, he’d allowed a couple more days to pass before he worked up the courage to head back to Al’s gym, most likely now uninvited. So when Peter showed up, he was expecting the door to be locked or for Wade to not even be there, but lo and behold, he’d pushed the door open and the electronic bell chimed as tinny as it always had… and there was Wade, waiting for him, still without his mask.

Staying calm had been the right choice, and Peter had never felt so relieved.

From then on, it was easy to fall back into the same routine they’d started only a week before. One week turned into two weeks, and two weeks quickly became two months. They continued to train together outside of the ring and were billed for a handful of rematches at additional live events all over the country. What had started as a strained and tenuous working relationship gradually transformed into something else.

The more time they spent together, the more they discovered they had similar tastes, not just in their shared love of foods, but also in many other things. Their shared appreciation of fellow wrestling competitors and even their dorky love of obscure pop culture references that no one outside of themselves ever got were high on the list.

Being around one another quickly became as much a habit as anything else Peter had ever done before. Training was suddenly less something that Peter felt obligated to do and more something he looked forward to each time they planned to meet.

Once word of Peter ditching sessions at his designated gym got back to Gwen, she caught onto their late night _hang-outs._ While she was relieved that they were getting along better, it was also in her nature to tease Peter mercilessly about his rapidly growing dude-crush.

The idea of having a bromance with Wade wasn’t a totally foreign concept to Peter, but he definitely wasn’t sure if that was the appropriate title for their relationship either.

Was it just emotional bonding or was it something more, he wondered. Peter had only ever had one really serious relationship before and there was very little else in his life for him to compare it to. Mary Jane had been his first everything; she had always made the first moves, and Peter was still sort of a coward on that front even if his alter ego, Spider-Man, was seemingly self-assured and overconfident in the public’s untrained eye.

After MJ had broken it off with him, getting into another relationship was the last thing on his mind… he had just gone semi-pro, there were back to back events and money to be made. Besides, his heart had needed time to get over MJ and perhaps that reluctance to be emotionally available had stunted him somewhere along the way.

It wasn’t possible to know if what he was feeling for Wade was more closely related to how he felt for his aunt, MJ, or even Gwen for that matter. Everything he felt with Wade was just so… different. It was too hard to classify as any one thing without having enough substantial evidence, not to mention the fact that he didn’t even know if Wade swung that way, heck, if _he_ even swung that way!

Peter was honestly such a loser when it came to handling anything related to feelings and often found he preferred to pretend they didn’t exist if they weren’t directly related to family, fandom, or food. The long and short of it was, Peter didn’t know and repeatedly had to tell himself to stop overthinking it so that he could get on with his life. 

It was a Thursday night the next time they met. Peter let himself into Al’s a little after eleven instead of their usual post-1 AM workout time. Wade had suggested earlier in the week that they should move their training sessions up because he knew Peter didn’t have a car and that peak ride-share times like 2 AM and later, when local bars and clubs in the area started closing for the night, were likely taking a toll on Peter’s paychecks. Instead of arguing, Peter had conceded; Wade was right, after all. It didn’t matter that they were meeting only one or two times a week now, after hours transportation was expensive and there were plenty of other things Peter could be spending his new salary on… like rent for his new condominium downtown or saving up for a down payment to help put his aunt in a real home of her own back in New York. The latter was still a secret goal, and Peter knew he had a few more months of scrounging ahead before he could act on the desire.

Wade grunted out a greeting from where he was skipping rope over by the mats, so Peter offered him a wave before heading over to the lockers to get geared up. Intense cardio night it seemed. _Yay_ , he thought and pushed the locker room door open with a creak.

By the time he was all suited up, fitted track pants and a tight tank top complimented by his newest pair of gym shoes, Wade had moved onto resistance bands. Peter sauntered over and picked up his favorite set, the one with the yellow piping, and got busy warming up alongside Wade.

“This time all right for ya?” Wade asked, flexing his arms in and out against the pull of his workout band. The red and black set he tended to favor had a higher resistance than Peter preferred.

“Yeah,” Peter exhaled with a controlled breath as he stretched his arms out in front of his chest, hands grasping the yellow handles of his band. “Just wish the new place was… ya know, closer.”

Peter hadn’t been given much choice when moving out of the newbie temp housing. Modern Marvels’ ultimatum had been: take the company-sponsored units at a reduced price or good luck finding your own place for less. Thus, his final decision had practically been made for him. His new condo ended up being about the same distance from Al’s, further north and east from where he’d initially been housed, but in a nicer part of town. Gwen had helped move him in the month before, and it was finally starting to feel like a home even if he wasn’t able to physically be there for little more than two weeks out of every month due to the traveling required for live events.

Wade hummed in agreement and continued with his reps.

Peter didn’t know where Wade lived, but he figured that asking to move their workout location someplace closer to his new address would be a hard no for Wade. Since they’d resumed their nightly routine months before, he had continued showing up regularly without his mask. It was a clear sign of trust that Wade had given Peter and, possibly, no other wrestler. Al’s gym was likely a safe haven for him, and Peter would never want to say or do anything that might make Wade uncomfortable.

But even if Wade never directly came out and addressed it, he was probably aware that the time and location of their weekly sessions at Al’s weren’t entirely agreeable for Peter as the man had once offered to give Peter lifts to and from the gym when he’d first mentioned that he would be moving.

Peter, of course, had politely turned Wade down because he didn’t want to take advantage of the other man’s kindness. His aunt had raised him better than to be a leech and there was also this ever present need to be self-sufficient after so many years of being able to easily get around on his own back in New York. But Miami wasn’t Queens, and their public transit was severely lacking in most regards. Either way, he’d still felt compelled to manage on his own.

He also didn’t think they’d been close enough at the time for Wade’s offer to stem from anything other than pity. They also shared a mutual hatred for anyone projecting that particular emotion on them. And while that had probably not been Wade’s initial intent, Peter had taken it the wrong way. Out of respect for Peter’s feelings, the other wrestler hadn’t tried to push the subject again since.

Which was regrettable, to say the least, as he thought back to his dwindling wallet in his duffle. How did one even ask if a previously rejected offer still stood without making things awkward? He obviously didn’t have any issues calling Gwen up when he needed to be somewhere in a hurry, but when someone _not_ Gwen offered to step in and help him out, he’d immediately gone and said no even though it was against his better interests.

Peter shook his head to clear the thought, but it kept coming back all the same. It wasn’t just the shame of sounding needy that kept him from asking if Wade could give him rides to and from the gym. There was another, still unknown, reason he hadn’t allowed himself to ask for rides even though they were now solidly _some kind_ of friends. Why was it that the prospect of Wade driving him around, seeing where he lived and knowing his address, so much more daunting than it had been with Gwen? Heck, even his aunt knew where he lived now, and she didn’t even live in the same state! But with Wade… it was… different like everything else that concerned him.

Peter didn’t get to dwell on it for much longer before Wade was redirecting his attention to burpees and planks. Somewhere between their first break and the treadmills, Wade got him talking about his most recent altercation with a certain feline from his last event.

Technically, Spider-Man was still undefeated in the ring, having never been pinned by another wrestler for the full three counts, but his character had been scripted to lose every single one of his encounters against Felicia’s character, Black Cat, thus far. She was classified as a heel like Pileta de Muerto, often resorting to both trickery and deception in the ring to tempt good guys, like Spider-Man, into trusting her only to turn around and backstab them when it was most convenient.

And backstab she had. Peter felt his ears heat up in embarrassment. Oh, how he hoped Wade hadn’t managed to catch the end of their last match on TV. Peter was still praying to any deity willing to listen that his aunt hadn’t seen that display either.

“Saw you got a pretty sexy bronco buster the other day from ‘Licia.” And there it was; Wade came out and said it while snickering and slowly lowering himself back down onto the mat. His fingers were pressed together in a tight diamond formation that Peter could only dream of one day emulating.

“Augh,” Peter groaned and dropped himself onto the workout mat harder than he’d intended. “I was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up.”

“Why not? Looked like you had fun,” Wade laughed again, sitting back up and placing his weight directly atop his thighs; thighs that were very well defined in his form fitting athletic shorts. Wade had started wearing those recently too, due to the increase in heat from the July weather, and it was interesting to Peter how Wade’s peculiar scarring stopped somewhere mid body. There were no marks on any of the visible parts of Wade’s knees or shins that Peter could see and that was just sorta… odd. But even if his curiosity often got the better of him with most other things in life, Peter never would have allowed himself to ask why only the top half of Wade was peppered in disfiguring scars while the bottom of him appeared to be, for the most part, normal.

He focused instead on the main topic at hand. “If you consider a woman launching her whole crotch at your face and making a mockery of you on live TV by hopping up and down on shoulders fun, then yeah, sure, _I had fun_.”

“Awww… you’re not into Ms. Kitty like that?” Wade clicked his tongue in mock disappointment, “[Poor pussy… poor pussy cat](https://youtu.be/KQHWpAQomoE?t=167).”

“I’ll let that joke slide but you should know that it was in bad taste.” Peter snorted and rolled over onto his back. He was still sore from letting Bucky Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, throw him around the practice ring, in another gym, the day before. The man’s name might have been comical sounding, because who actually named their kid James Buchanan in this day and age, but man, did he pack an aggressive personality behind his punches. Peter’s whole back ached from all of the bumps he’d had to eat to perfect his timing for their upcoming match.

“Speaking of other things that are in poor taste, heard any more news about the upcoming pay-per-view?” Wade got off the mat and stretched his arms high over his head. He might no longer wear the masks and gloves, but his long sleeve, high-neck shirts had yet to take a vacation.

Peter adjusted himself until he, too, was right side up and glanced over at Wade as he walked towards the bench to collect their water bottles. “Mm, not yet. Gwen said she thinks the writers are plotting something big between you and I, hence all the match-ups where I’ve had to pin you and/or let Black Cat kick my butt for revenge.”

Wade chuckled good-naturedly on his way back over to Peter, one hand out to offer an uncapped bottle to him. “When are the writers _not_ planning something for either of us?”

“True,” Peter managed in between gulps. He brought the back of his forearm up to wipe any water that had managed to escape from the corners of his mouth. “Which reminds me! I talked to Bucky yesterday and asked for some advice on submissions, but he told me that wasn’t his thing. Do you think maybe you…?”

Wade, who’d thrown his head back to chug his water, turned an eye over on Peter, who was still sitting cross legged on the mat.

“BB wasn’t up to the task?” He asked, pronouncing the nickname more like _baby_ , after he’d emptied his bottle and crushed it in his fist. Peter shook his head. “Well then, I guess I’m your man. Used to be more of a brawler when I first started anyway. Nothing a good ol’ hold can’t solve!” Peter nodded at that and stood up.

“Would you be willing to nix some of the other fitness stuff tonight or do we have to schedule a special appointment for the lesson?”

Wade gasped, sounding offended. “What, and skip leg day!? Hell to the no!”

“I figured,” Peter slumped his whole upper body forward, muscles still tight and sore, and turned to walk dejectedly over to the weights section. A large hand came and clapped down on his left shoulder, and Peter turned back around to look at Wade who was now wearing a softer expression.

“I’m jokin’, bud,” he said through a mild grimace. “I bet you’re probably hurting if you were training with Barnes the day before. Guy’s not a bad person at heart, but he doesn’t know how to hold back in anything he does. Honestly, I’d figured you might ask for a reprieve tonight and not show up at all. So imagine my surprise when you come waltzing in here with your gym bag and fancy new high-tops on. We can skip the other stuff today. I won’t even hassle you… much.”

Peter felt his heart clench in his chest for the briefest of seconds. Wade was the best. “Yeah, okay. Thanks… pal.” The word felt kind of stilted coming out of his mouth even though it directly mirrored Wade’s own.

They made their way over the practice ring in the back of Al’s. The last time they’d used it was two weeks before when Wade had asked Peter what other high flying moves he could do for another one of their scheduled rematches. Peter had not disappointed and the extra practice had been a worthy investment. Wade was, seriously, the best. Pileta de Muerto always made sure Spider-Man shined in front of the cameras and for that, Peter would forever be grateful to him.

Wade hefted himself up onto the edge of the ring and rolled under the ropes. When he stood, he turned and held the middle and lower ropes apart so that Peter could duck in between them and join him in the center.

“Before we start though, I gotta ask, why submissions? You think Whiney Soldier’s really gonna let you make him tap?”

Peter shook his head again. Even he knew, with a scripted win against Bucky or no, the other man would never allow himself to be strong-armed into submitting during a match. He was much too prideful for that, and if Peter was a gambling man, he’d bet there was a hidden clause in Barnes’ contract that wouldn’t allow any writer to even consider it due to his past.

Any wrestling fan who followed the circuit rumors knew all about how the rivalry between Captain America and the Winter Soldier had started. It began with a submission hold that Cap had pulled on Bucky in one of their first matches together. Barnes had been forced to tap to end it, and he was so ashamed by the loss that he’d never allowed another wrestler to submit him in the ring since.

Barnes had a strong reputation to uphold as his sullen character, the Winter Soldier, and losing to Rogers like that had visibly shaken him, even in his real life. Now, they’d gotten past that rocky point in their relationship, both men holding the MMW tag-team championships for the longest record to date, but Barnes still, to this day, had never lost another match by submission. Peter could easily conclude that if Barnes wouldn’t let his pseudo-best friend perform a submission on him in the ring, there was no way in heck he’d ever let Peter’s character even try to entertain such thoughts.

“No, definitely not for him.”

“So why?” Wade pressed, covered arms coming up to cross over his expansive chest.

Peter felt a warmth start to lick up his neck, onto his cheeks and ears again. Did he even have to say why at this point? “Well, I’m… I’m kinda sick of Black Cat always embarrassing me. I know it’s part of the script to lose to her, but she didn’t have to push her last finisher so far. Plus, I’m scripted to overpower her next show, and I thought this might be a way to get a little revenge without actually hurting her ‘cuz, ya know, Spider-Man is against hurting women.”

Wade nodded slowly in understanding. “I see… Shame you got that kinda hang-up though, Spidey. Felicia’s a real wild cat, if ya know what I’m sayin’. Give a little love tap to that puss’ boot if she misbehaves, and you’ll see what I mean.” He waggled his non-existent eyebrows at Peter, but instead of it being funny, that last comment made Peter feel some other kind of way. It wasn’t exactly bad, but it definitely wasn’t good either.

“Phfft,” Peter rolled his eyes. “That’s a little TMI, even for you.”

The wagging of Wade’s eyebrowless brow continued until Peter couldn’t help but laugh a little genuinely at his goofy expression. “All right, enough clowning around. You gonna teach me that submission or do I need to learn it all by myself?”

“They don’t call me Payaso de Muerto for nothin’!” Wade cackled and walked over to Peter until they were nearly chest to chest, all the while humming _All by Myself_ under his breath.

“90’s night?”

“Erry night,” Wade assured him and brought a hand up to push lightly against Peter’s chest. “Down boy,” he commanded with an air of teasing to his voice. As promised, he didn’t say anything when Peter carefully lowered himself back first onto the mat, wincing only slightly when his shoulder blades hit the hardwood floor under the ring.

“What next?”

“Spread ‘em,” Wade gruffed like he was one of those snobby TSA officers giving an unnecessary pat-down at the airport. Peter snickered and kept his knees bent with both his thighs together and his feet still flat on the mat.

“Never on the first date,” Peter laughed, trying to keep the humor going, only weakly fighting against Wade’s large hands as they tugged his legs apart from behind the knees.

“Keep talkin’ flirty with me, and I'm gonna hafta charge you by the minute.” Wade winked at him and brought Peter’s left leg up straight by the ankle. “Gimme the other,” he held out an expectant hand and waited patiently for Peter to bring his other leg up.

“You familiar with the [sharp shooter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ku2HtEMkaG4)?” Wade asked, craning his neck at an odd angle to meet Peter’s eyes below him. Their heights made the positioning a little awkward, which was funny because Peter wasn’t exactly short. In fact, he was barely more than the averagest of average height for men in the United States at five foot ten. Wade, on the other hand, was as tall as he was huge, towering over everyone else at six foot four. He moved his hands from Peter’s ankles to the bottoms of his shoes and gave them a slight squeeze that Peter could feel through the material.

“Asked you a question, shortstack.”

Peter jolted against the ring floor at the name and nodded his head hastily in response. “Y-yeah, seen it before, but don’t quite know the whole technique behind the move.”

“Sounds about right, this ain’t for amateurs. Gotta be careful you don’t press too hard or you could seriously wreck someone, but I think you’ll be able to master yourself enough to use it on Felicia.”

“W-wait!” Peter stuttered out. “You expect me to use this on _her_!?”

“Well, uh-doy,” Wade huffed like the answer was obvious. “Why else would I be teaching you a hilarious looking submission if not to use on her? Did you forget what you asked for?”

Peter didn’t bother to argue further. Wade was right, he had asked for this. “Okay… okay, yeah. You’re right.” He finally settled back against the mat. “What happens next?”

Wade smirked and stepped his right leg forward through Peter’s spread ones so that his foot was even with Peter’s left hip. “That’s the spirit,” he proclaimed as he then brought his leg back so that the front of Peter’s left kneecap was solidly tapping into the back of Wade’s right knee.

“You feel me?” He bumped the back of his knee into Peter’s a couple times so that he could follow Wade’s movements. Peter nodded. Seeing that he still held Peter’s full attention, Wade leaned sideways to bend Peter’s left leg over the top of his own thigh. The muscles and tendons gave little resistance and that had Wade chuckling under his breath.

“Flexible ain’t ya?” Wade joked, switching his hand from Peter’s shoe to his ankle to keep him held in place.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Peter added breathlessly, another brief flash of warmth licking up the back of his neck. Where had that come from? Wade just hummed in appreciation and proceeded to tuck Peter’s left foot under his right knee.

“See what I’m doin’?”

Peter craned his neck up for a better look and nodded.

“Now then,” Wade’s left hand guided Peter’s right leg over his own hip, effectively pretzeling Peter over his thigh. “Once you’ve got the legs locked like so,” he dipped down to slip his free right arm under both of Peter’s legs, his hand forming a fist, “get your hand under the heel and close the hold.” Wade peered back down to look Peter in the eyes as his left hand moved to cover his right.

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” Peter exhaled and then his world inverted as Wade stood up fully and pivoted, forcing Peter to roll over, half onto his stomach. The pressure instantly doubled in his lower back, all of his muscles immediately protesting the sudden shift in position.

“Still okay?” Wade asked as one of his legs, Peter didn’t even know which one it was anymore, now rested against the middle of his back.

“Y-yeah,” Peter wheezed, the strain of the stretch not completely unbearable but still _very_ present.

“Now I’m gonna kick my free leg over you. Hopefully your opponent will keep their hands up by their head like you’re doing now but always double check before you to step to make sure you don’t crush any fingers, okay?” Peter nodded, his face still smooshed against the ring floor. He took one more deep breath as Wade followed through and finished the move, fully stepping over the width of Peter and clapping a hand on the flexed knee still trapping Peter’s other leg.

“Once you’ve got everything else locked in place, you just gotta sit back and pull.” And that’s exactly what Wade did, yanking Peter’s lower half up while he seated a majority of his body’s weight right onto Peter’s own backside.

A shrill cry escaped Peter as he felt his spine hyperextend to a degree he was not at all prepared for. “Holy- OW!” He couldn’t tell what was hurting worse, his sore muscles still screeching at him from the night before, his spine now over extending itself as his legs were pulled upwards, or his right knee pinned over his left leg. All forces felt equally intolerable for various reasons but were compounded by his inability to have fully recovered from his practice match with Barnes. Had that not been a part of this equation, he probably could have handled the hold with more grace and fewer humiliating sounds.

“Hurts donut?” Wade sniggered and leaned back just that tad bit more that had Peter slapping his hand against the mat helplessly, yelling for Wade to stop. He instantly released Peter and turned back to make sure he was all right.

“Oh my god,” Peter rolled over onto his back and slapped a forearm against his sweaty forehead. “That sucks so much…”

“What, the hold or the pun?”

“Both?” Peter groaned, not sounding entirely sure of himself and just so thankful the hold had been broken.

“Yeah, probably, but it’s gonna be great when you finally get to do it to Black Cat, huh?” Wade reached down to offer Peter a helping hand up off the mat.

“Maybe, I mean, that’s one serious stretch if you’re not very bendy,” Peter reasoned, and Wade nodded along as he tugged Peter back to his feet.

“Hah! True but, lucky for both of us, I’m plenty bendy myself.” Wade thumbed at his chest as Peter made a face and eyed Wade up and down with some obvious skepticism.

“Phfft, fine, have it your way, I’m not _as flexible_ as I used to be, but I ain’t old yet.” Wade let go of Peter’s hand and flopped back first onto the mat. “Now then, your turn!” he giggled while kicking his legs up at Peter without being asked.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were too eager for this… you been waiting all night for me to put my hands on you?”

“¡No manches!” Wade laughed out loud but still folded his hands beneath his head in a carefree manner. “Now [show me what you got](https://youtu.be/m1fZ7Ap6ebs?t=31).”

They practiced the move about ten more times, with Peter instructed to move faster each repetition until his movements were nearly muscle memory. And Wade was right, he was still kinda bendy for his age. Peter tried not to let himself fixate on that each and every time he sat back into the submission hold and tugged Wade’s legs skyward.

“Okay, break time!” Wade tapped out on their final set. “I may be sorta bendable but even my back’s got a limit, and I am just shy of becoming cracked play-doh at this point. I’m good if you feel like ya learned something”

Peter let go of Wade and stood up to repeat the man’s gesture from before, offering him a hand before helping Wade back up onto his feet. “Thanks again for teaching me and letting me practice on you.”

“Nah, no sweat,” Wade rocked up onto his tiptoes and pressed both of his fists into the small of his back, eliciting a soft pop from the lumbosacral region of his spine. “It’s always handy to know a couple quick finishers for a match gone wrong. Might just be the thing that saves you out there one day. Shame most schools don’t focus as much on actual wrestling as they did back in the day.”

Peter chuckled and shook his head. “Okay Grandpa, and what else did they do when dinosaurs roamed the Earth?”

Wade turned and smirked back at Peter, garbling his deep voice even further and pretending to hunch over with an imaginary cane. “Listen ‘ere you young whippersnapper, you…”

They both erupted in a fit of laughter, and Peter found himself floating on the ease at which they could now joke with each other. It felt easy. It felt… right.

“Oh,” Wade picked the conversation back up again as he was often wont to do. “I forgot to mention, even though you now know this kind of move, I really can’t stress enough the importance of communicating your intentions to use it on your partner before a match.”

“You mean when we plan out what we’re gonna do during the practice session?”

Wade finger-gunned at Peter with a wink. “Right on, pardner. I wasn’t joking when I said some folks don’t like being forced to submit during a match, so make sure they’re all right with every little thing you’re planning on subjecting them to in the ring beforehand. Not everyone’s as easy going as ol’ P-D-M was during your debut match. I may have been fine with you swapping that shooting star for a corkscrew, but someone less prepared might have freaked out with the way you pulled that outta thin air. Improvising can and does happen, from time to time, but it’s always better to go in with a plan, ya dig?”

Peter could see that from an outsider’s perspective, and Wade was right. During his time in the semi-pro leagues, he’d learned to wrestle on the fly with little to no prep and still make it look good. But he had been lucky there; he and his fellow competitors had wrestled together long enough that they were very well acquainted with one another’s styles and preferences in the ring. Such was not the case at Modern Marvels. He would need to have at least five or more matches with all of the other wrestlers individually before he felt comfortable ad-libbing with any of them before a live audience for an event broadcast on national television.

“And one more thing,” Wade’s voice suddenly became serious for a second, which was rare because now that he and Peter were friends, Wade was hardly ever serious about anything.

“I was kidding when I suggested you try to take a swat at Felicia’s derriere. If she’s not down for that, you need to respect her wishes. Having consent makes all the difference between fooling around and sexually harassing someone. If you do something she doesn’t like, I can guaran-damn-tee you, you’ll get the claws. Girl will slap a lawsuit on you faster than you can say me-ow.”

“Got it, consent or no dice,” Peter summarized. He wasn’t planning on getting any handsier than necessary with the other wrestlers if he could help it, and sexual humor based on innuendo had never really been his shtick anyway. He’d leave that for someone else and focus only on what he knew best. Surely Black Cat would be up for incorporating this submission in their next match-up. She kinda did owe it to him by pulling out that overly dramatic bronco buster last time, after all.

Peter had agreed to let her hop onto his shoulders, but he definitely hadn’t expected her to imitate riding his face. Augh, there was the embarrassment again, creeping back in uninvited. He brought both of his hands up to cover his nose and shield the redness that was surely present. Best not to think about it anymore; what was done was in the past, focus on the now.

“Right on, [brother](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5fkW5NZm9k)! So now that you’ve got a new submission under your belt, whaddya say you learn another way to pin and hold someone who’s wily down?”

Peter perked back up at that. He’d only hoped that Wade might agree to show him a single submission earlier, but he had never expected him to offer to teach anything extra of his own volition. “Y-yeah, sure.”

“You always stutter or only when you’re nervous?” Wade looked him over with a knowing eye.

Peter’s whole face got hot again. “I… I don’t stutter.”

Wade’s expression remained neutral. “Mm-hm, sure ya don’t. Now then,” he motioned back to the mat. “Ready to [_get down on it_](https://youtu.be/qchPLaiKocI?t=27)?”

Peter brought his hand right up to his face and clapped it over both of his eyes. “No more music jokes! You’re only allowed one era per night!”

“Says who!?”

“Says me,” Peter laughed as he lowered his hand. “So, what move are you going to be teaching me now?”

“Not a move,” Wade corrected, stepping forward until he was toe to toe with Peter again. “I’m gonna teach you another pin.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter challenged. “There something wrong with the way I’ve been pinning you lately?”

“Nothing wrong, per se.” Wade drawled, cocking a hip and resting his hand on it, knuckles first. “Just figured you could use a little more creativity in that department.”

Peter rolled his shoulders out and nodded at Wade. “Fair enough, what’s it called?”

That elicited a dark chuckle from Wade, who lunged to the right of where Peter stood as he slung his left arm around Peter’s waist. Before Peter could follow the movement, Wade was already behind him and his right arm had completed a ring around Peter.

He tried to track the motion but then Wade was shifting to his left again. Peter turned his head just in time to catch Wade throwing himself flat on the mat, sideways behind Peter. An arm snaked up between his legs, into a place where arms shouldn’t go without prior consent, and wrapped up and around his right inner thigh. Peter felt his knees bend involuntarily as Wade used the leverage of his arm to drag him down and over Wade’s prone body.

Peter connected with the mat with a slightly painful thud and a second later he was rolled up with both of his legs kicked up high over his head, the hot press of Wade’s torso against his groin.

“What the-” Peter managed to get out before Wade’s laughter cut him off.

“Gonna take you to school, cariño!” Wade crowed, from where he loomed over Peter. “This is called the [school boy pin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAqtVjDbTYg). Think you can learn how to do it in the next half hour?”

“Think you can get off of me in the next thirty seconds and then maybe?” Peter retorted. Wade cackled and rolled off of Peter as quickly as he’d pinned him.

“This one’s gonna take a little bit more strength than you’re used to if you’re facing someone who doesn’t appreciate being held down this way.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Peter sassed as he brought his legs down once Wade was off of him and sat up on the mat. Wade had managed to get back to his feet as quickly as he’d gotten them down on the floor. It was scary, sometimes, how quickly the man could move when he wanted to. Peter didn’t even think twice about taking the offered hand to pull him up.

“Wanna walk me through it one more time, but ya know, with words for directions instead of actions this time?”

Wade tightened his grip on Peter’s hand, which he still had yet to let go of, and stepped behind him again. “You betcha, no IKEA this time.”

As promised, Wade gave him detailed step by step instructions, just the same as he’d done with the sharp shooter. When it was Peter’s turn, he tiptoed back behind Wade with moderate reluctance. Peter had always acknowledged that there were some inherently… questionable maneuvers in wrestling that could be misinterpreted as being overly sexual in nature without really meaning to. This was one such move and probably part of the main reason he’d never thought to try and execute it on another human being before. But Wade was willing to teach him and there he was waiting expectantly, with his back turned, for Peter to strike.

“Need an invitation or something?” Wade cajoled over his shoulder; one mischievous blue eye peered back at him as Peter stepped closer.

When Peter finally got into position, his chest pressed evenly against Wade’s back and their lower bodies flush, all he could think about was how… intimate the set up was. The final pin probably looked just as unseemly, but Peter didn’t allow himself to dwell on it by doing the next best thing he could think of to counter his rising embarrassment.

He focused on the one question that had been on his mind since Wade had told him the name of this hold.

“Why do they call it the school boy?”

Wade’s shoulders shook as he chuckled under his breath. “‘Cuz you’re gonna pretend to put your hand up my skirt, Petey.”

Now that just made it worse.

The idea of Wade, the man who was Pileta de Muerto under the suit, wearing an ill-fitting schoolgirl uniform with a plaid skirt riding high along his well-defined thighs, the uncertain nature of what undergarments Peter might find under there… Peter was amazed that his head didn’t burst into flames right then and there from the images that assaulted him.

He definitely felt the rush of blood color his neck and ears this time and was grateful that Wade couldn’t see behind him as Peter dropped down on the mat the way Wade had instructed him to before. Wade allowed Peter to fumble with him a little and roll him up somewhat clumsily the first two attempts.

By the third try, when Peter was about to call it quits because this was getting to be too much and his awkward quota was just about full for the day, Wade suggested they slow down to the same speed that he’d initially walked Peter through the move with.

Peter swallowed thickly but agreed nonetheless; he could do this.

It was just Wade.

“All right, now drop on down behind me. Make sure your body’s perpendicular or the pin’s not gonna work and you’ll end up with a lapful of grown ass wrestler.” Wade instructed, doing his best to hold most of his weight on his own so that Peter could focus on where to move and where to put his hands, which was apparently not helping as Peter’s fingers got a little too friendly in the wrong place.

“Yo!” Wade jumped. “Goin’ grocery shopping down there or what? This ain’t a supermercado, please keep your hands off the frutas exoticas.”

“No hablo Español,” Peter choked out nervously in an awful American accent as he pulled Wade down and over him, going slowly to spare Wade the hard back bump he would have otherwise had to suffer if they’d been going at a normal pace.

“Ah-hah! ¡Si puedes hablar Español!”

Peter’s knowledge of Spanish as a foreign language began and ended in sixth grade, and Wade certainly spoke well enough that it sounded like he was fluent or at least good at conversational Spanish. While it was fascinating to listen to, truthfully, Peter only understood about a quarter of whatever Wade said at any given time. Either way, it was still fun to think that Wade trusted him enough to talk so freely in a language other than English around Peter as often as he did.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Peter laughed as he leaned over and pressed himself into Wade. The angle of the hold was a little off due to their moderate height difference, and Peter felt a pleasant rush of warmth start to swirl around in his lower abdomen as his hips came into contact with Wade’s overly muscular backside. He didn’t pay as much attention to that as he should have because sports like wrestling or martial arts always involved some sort of expected _physical contact_ between participants. This would definitely not be the first, nor would it be the last time he was plastered all over an opponent in a somewhat compromising fashion.

That slight oversight would be his downfall.

One second they were laughing, and the next they were quietly staring at one another, _into_ one another, Peter watching Wade and the expression on his face as it softened through the window of his legs. The sight of him staring back up at Peter with that same disarming, playful smirk that always caught at the corners of his lips just right to show off a little bit of his perfectly white teeth was enough to tip Peter’s mood from pleased into pleasured. He felt that knot low in his gut tighten and expand into something more alarming. _Oh no_ , he caught himself thinking. He wasn’t… was he? So, like a genius, he did the smartest thing he could think of and threw himself off of Wade like he’d been burned.

 _Oh god,_ he began freaking out internally. _Had Wade felt that? Did he know!?_ Peter shuffled away from Wade as fast as he could, trying to put some grace-saving distance between them. Normally it took longer for something like that to just… _pop up_ on its own.

Peter was absolutely mortified. When was the last time something like this had happened to him; had this ever happened to him!? He was supposed to be a professional!

“Hey, you okay?” Wade hastily sat up and cocked a brow worriedly in Peter’s direction, who was trying to curl in on himself as though the action would make him disappear. His knees were tucked up to his neck while one of his hands fisted feebly against the floor of the practice ring, no purchase to be found.

“Yeah, uhm, I think maybe we should call it a night.” Peter murmured, his face very obviously red under the bright glare of the gym’s fluorescent lights. He saw Wade’s head turn in the direction of the analog clock that hung over by the treadmills.

“We’ve still got fifteen minutes left, Petey.” His eyes came back to bear down on Peter, and it was all suddenly too much. “Something’s seriously wro-ooooh,” Wade stopped the word mid-voice and transitioned it into a knowing sound. Peter tried not to broadcast his predicament but how else was he supposed to hide a hard-on in tight clothes?

“I see what’s going on here…” Wade knowingly said as he got back to his feet.

Peter felt the flush on his cheeks deepen at that. Why was Wade’s sudden awareness of the situation making it _worse_!? Prior to Wade acknowledging the semi Peter had started sporting against his backside, he had almost succeeded in completely panicking it away. Now it seemed to be back with a vengeance _because_ Wade was being so conscientious of it and acting like it was no big deal that Peter had gotten inadvertently aroused while practicing a simple pin on him. It was like Wade was enabling his erection!

Peter was having none of it.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna-,” Peter scooched his backside along the ring mat until he got close enough to touch the ropes. He almost got away before one of Wade’s hands locked around his ankle and bodily reeled him back into the center of the ring.

From there, it was a lot of grunting and fumbling, which only matters worse. Wade completely manhandled him; one of his arms got trapped underneath Wade’s knee and then he was rolled back around onto his shoulders and upside down once again. He could feel the heat of one of Wade’s big hands pressing into the meat of his thigh, just barely touching his shame.

Peter kicked and kicked, struggled fruitlessly against [this new kind of pin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrTy_3sGous), but couldn’t get any leverage no matter how much he fought. Wade could out muscle Peter even on his best days, but with a hold like this, Peter was as weak as a turtle turned on its back.

He eventually gave up struggling and tried not to sob at the indignity of it all.

“Easy there, Tiger. You think you’re the first person to pop a stiffy from close bodily contact?” Wade tightened his grip over Peter’s thigh, his bicep flexing into the back of Peter’s leg.

Wade did his best to imitate a game show buzzer. “EHHH! Wrong! I mean, sure, it doesn’t happen often to a butterface like me, but it’s not completely unheard of. And lemme tell ya, I’m flattered, really, but it’s no excuse to cut the rest of our practice short just because your body’s decided it wants to act au naturale on you now.”

Wade chattered on about the whole situation so calmly, in the same tone of voice he’d given Peter step by step instructions with earlier, like it didn’t matter. Peter might have conceded and believed him if even half of his brain could function at a higher level… but it couldn’t, so Peter kept quiet because maybe if he didn’t talk, he wasn’t really there and this wasn’t actually happening. Putting your head in the sand worked for ostriches, right? It might even work for him, too, except Wade refused to allow him to dissociate from the situation.

Peter received a sharp pinch to the inside of his right thigh that had him hissing in irritation and suddenly there he was again, sporting a full blown erection mere inches away from Wade’s very present hand.

“You cool now? If I let you up, you’re not gonna run?”

Peter nodded the back of his sweaty head against the mat, the friction probably doing crazy things to his hair like icing on this already awful cake of humiliation.

“Yeah,” he squeaked. “I’m cool.”

“Like a cucumber?” Wade tried to inject a little light humor back into their conversation before withdrawing his arm from in between Peter’s legs and rolling away from him.

“Seedless,” Peter said as he flopped down onto his left side, pointedly facing away from Wade, his mentor, part-time friend, once idol, and now the guy who would always have a tarnished memory of him because Peter’s body had decided it was a great idea to sport one of the world’s most awkward boners in the middle of one of their practice sessions.

“Good man,” Wade praised. “The seedless variety is infinitely superior to the standard cucumber, so I’m glad we’re still on the same page.” Peter heard Wade prattle on, still acting as though nothing was wrong when everything clearly, irreparably, was.

When would this night end? Peter pressed his forehead into the mat and shut his eyes, trying his best to think Doctor Who thoughts so that time might fast forward and this moment could be lost in the ether with every other embarrassing moment of his life to date.

“Hey,” Wade’s gravelly baritone floated over Peter’s hunched form. “I meant what I said about this being totally normal.”

“I highly doubt that,” Peter replied, his arms coming up to wrap around himself like a shield that would make the awkwardness go away. 

Wade snorted and kept going. “Look, if you think you’re embarrassed, let me tell you about the time I once sprung a semi on America’s ass in the middle of a live event! Talk about embarrassing… pretty sure Cap felt it, too, but what was I supposed to do with him wriggling around under me like that with no cup? I’m a human as much as anyone else, even if I don’t look it 100 percent. ‘Sides, my body doesn’t know the difference and neither does yours so stop beating yourself up over it! It’s normal; you’ll get over it. Look at me, I already have!”

“But it’s not...” Peter whispered, his whole face burning as he continued a conversation that he was very uncomfortable having.

“Wazzat you say?” Wade asked.

Peter took a deep breath and bit the bullet. He was going to have to see Wade’s face again at some point. They’d both left their things in the locker room for crying out loud! He might as well do it like a bandaid since there was ultimately no escaping the inevitable. Besides, the cat was already out of the bag and, just like a sick mockery of Pandora’s box, there was no way it would ever go back in again. Time to suck it up and handle this big fat L with whatever little decency Peter had left.

“I said it’s not normal… for me, I mean.” Peter pushed himself up and turned to peer back at Wade. “I’ve never… this doesn’t happen… to someone like me.”

There was a thoughtful look playing across Wade’s features, but it didn’t hold any judgement. For that, Peter was grateful.

“I just…” he continued to ramble on, “I’ve wrestled with plenty of other folks, men _and_ women, and this… it just… I’ve never… _you know_ , with random people. I can think someone is attractive or pretty, but it doesn’t… it normally doesn’t affect me like this.” Peter struggled to put his thoughts into words, which was not new but unbelievably frustrating when the need to explain yourself was as pressing as it was now.

Wade’s eyes widened a little bit at Peter’s admission but betrayed none of the thoughts that must have been floating through his head as he listened to Peter talk on. He simply gave a gentle hum to encourage Peter to keep going but said nothing else.

Thankfully, the talking appeared to be helping some. Peter felt the tightening in his groin lessen the more he spoke about why his body had reacted the way it did to Wade. The only other person he’d ever… felt that way with, physically, had been MJ.

He had a sudden epiphany.

Was Wade… was this like how it’d been with MJ? How Peter had first felt when he’d realized he was beginning to develop a crush on the bubbly redhead in his seventh period Health class? He couldn’t remember and swallowed thickly as he looked back up at Wade. His lips were dry, so he licked them and didn’t even bother to think twice about how unsettling that might make their current situation as Wade was seemingly immune to Peter’s specific brand of awkward.

What he didn’t expect was for Wade’s sapphire eyes to dart down and follow the action. When they came back up to rest on Peter’s face, there was another kind of unreadable expression there. This one was different from the previous one he’d shown Peter earlier, one that managed to heat up that same treacherous coil in his gut and got it to start tightening again, closer to bursting this time, like some kind of perverted Jack-in-the-box that was one wind away from leaping out.

“So we’re gonna Chumbawamba this tonight, huh?” Wade finally broke the tension, sounding only half serious as his eyes roved down towards Peter’s lap. This time it was directly in his line of sight.

Peter felt some of the haze that had been building up start to clear and then his brow furrowed at the familiar but not quite recognized reference. This feeling caused by Wade was not only capable of rerouting the blood in his body to other places without his permission, but it also appeared to have the power to rob him of his wits, too.

“What?” he heard himself intelligently ask. Wade then tipped his chin back down at Peter and sure enough, there it was again, the very same shame that had literally come between them earlier, back again for round two. Peter didn’t even know if he should bother trying to hide it this time since Wade had clearly seen it in all its glory or if he should just toss himself out of the ring and hope he landed on his head hard enough to cause permanent amnesia of the entire evening thus far.

“I get knocked down,” Wade started singing and bobbing his head along to imaginary music, “but I get up again; you’re never gonna keep me down!”

“Augh,” Peter chose that moment to flop back down onto the mat and roll himself indiscreetly out of the ring. “NO MORE MUSIC JOKES!”

“What!?” Wade whined. “It was the right era this time and everything!” he heard Wade call out after him as he stalked over to their towels and began wiping himself down.

The remainder of their night was spent tidying up the gym in a clumsy dance of Peter trying to physically put more distance between himself and Wade while all Wade seemed to want to do was get closer to Peter and continue kidding with him like nothing had happened… a second time. It was more than Peter could bear, and he was grateful when they finally finished putting all of their used equipment back in its rightful place.

Peter excused himself to the locker room first while Wade began sanitizing the practice ring with the gym’s house cleaning solution. It was a mixture of ammonia with some water thrown in… too much water thrown in, Peter had remarked to Wade on more than one occasion when he’d used it to disinfect the gym machines they’d used. They took turns mopping up the place and, thankfully, tonight was Wade’s turn.

It was a huge relief when Peter finished peeling off his workout clothes and there was nothing unseemly rising up to greet him. _Definitely wearing a cup next time,_ he told himself and hurried to change into his street clothes. The sooner he got out of there, the sooner he could throw himself into a cold shower back at home to teach his body a lesson about what was and was not considered proper behavior with colleagues… even if said colleague said it was okay, it definitely was not!

Peter was still thinking of other ways to prevent tonight’s fiasco from ever happening again when Wade entered the locker room and parked himself on the bench next to Peter.

“Do you need a ride home?”

Peter jumped at the sudden timbre of Wade’s voice so close by. “Sheeze! No, I…” Peter swiveled his head on his shoulders and looked down at Wade, who was hunched forward over his knees with his hands laced together over his lap. He hadn’t even heard Wade come in! Upon closer inspection though, Wade’s body language appeared… apprehensive? But why? He certainly hadn’t been the one to embarrass himself in the ring. If anything, Wade should be the one put on a podium with the biggest medal for his decorum in handling one of the most embarrassing situations of Peter’s life so well.

And then Peter rewound to earlier in the evening, remembering how he’d been wishing for Wade to bring up that same offer of a ride. Because they were friends now, he could graciously accept and keep his tiny wallet just a smidge fatter if he said yes.

He wanted _so much_ to say yes, but it felt wrong after everything else he’d imposed on poor Wade tonight. Two unwanted erectile malfunctions and one unsolicited emotional dump later, Peter didn’t think he had it in him to ask Wade to continue treating him so graciously.

He definitely didn’t deserve it.

“Maybe… maybe tonight’s not a good night,” Peter told him quietly, still studying how Wade would react to the rejection. He’d handled it well before, practically water off a duck’s back the way he’d brushed it off and jumped right back into whatever else they’d been talking about and not bothering to bring it up again until now… until Peter had wished Wade into propositioning him again.

This time though, Wade didn’t seem to take Peter’s refusal as well as the previous. The corded muscles of his neck tensed, and Peter could have sworn he saw Wade’s knuckles quiver as his hands tightened their hold on one another.

“Yeah,” Wade breathed out, averted his eyes, and refused to look back up at Peter as he continued to speak. “You’re probably right. Everyone’s always right,” he whispered under his breath. Had their conversation been happening at a normal hour with more folks in the gym working out or other people moving around in the locker rooms, Peter might never have heard it.

He turned and closed his locker before he zipped up his duffle bag. “Thank you, Wade.” Peter told him, shouldering his gym bag and scuffing his new shoes against the cement of the locker room floor. He felt so much more awkward now that he’d clearly said something to upset Wade, but he didn’t know how to make it right.

Words were just… hard right now.

His thanks got the other man to look up at him, his eyes darker, hidden by the poor lighting of the locker room. “You’re welcome,” was all he replied, the usual humor gone from his demeanor.

It was kind of weird but not wholly unexpected. Peter knew that no one person was capable of being so flippant about every aspect of their life, and besides, prior to beginning his late night training sessions with Wade, he’d only ever been exposed to the serious side of Wade’s personality. Even still, it was strange for him to revert back to his old attitude without warning, especially after how’d he’d tried so hard to console Peter during his bodily crises earlier.

Without anything left to say or add to their conversation, Peter did the next best thing he could think of, he excused himself abruptly. “I guess I’ll just… go then,” Peter pointed at the door and offered a timid wave at Wade.

He didn’t stick around to see if Wade reacted to that. Peter was already out of the locker room and thumbing a pick-up location into his phone for a share-ride before Wade could give him a response back.

If he was lucky, his lift would be outside waiting for him before Wade finished locking up the gym for the night.

Providence was on his side, for once, and a very nice older gentleman drove him home without asking anything too personal… just if he was from the city and how long he’d lived there… whether or not he liked it… didn’t even bother to ask why Peter was out so late at night with a gym bag, so Peter was grateful to him and made sure to tip him a little extra for his company and the safe ride back.

Once he was inside and had turned the deadbolt to lock his front door, Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket. He and Wade still hadn’t traded numbers yet… it felt kind of wrong to have the sort of relationship they did now without knowing even that much about his _friend._

Peter made himself promise that he would ask for it the next time they met, which, based on his calendar, would be in two more days. Hopefully by then he’d be able to forget how horribly his body had misbehaved in Wade’s presence and maybe Wade would be out his odd funk, or whatever that attitude had been, before they parted ways. Peter couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty about leaving him there like that.

Should he have stayed? Was that a real friend would have done? Augh, this would be so much easier if he just had Wade’s number in the first place! Then he could send a text and not be left alone with his thoughts. Wade seemed like the type that would text back immediately… and he was clearly a night owl otherwise they would never have been training so late at night to begin with.

"Definitely asking him next time," he muttered as he padded over to the bedroom and tossed his phone on the bed. From there, he freshened up in the bathroom, under extra cold water, because it didn't matter that his body wouldn't remember why it was being punished. The loud clattering of his teeth under the icy spray and the painful prickling of goosebumps on his skin should be enough of a reminder for Peter's brain to never step out of line again.

When he got out of the shower, shivering and dripping all over the bathroom tile, he caught a look at himself in the mirror.

Since he’d begun training with Wade, true to his word, the Muerto Especial was starting to slowly build compact muscle on him, which was mostly reflected in the toning of his shoulders, pecs, and arms. It was intriguing to see these kinds of results on himself that his coaches back in New York could never seem to get. The only thing marring his otherwise pale complexion was some pale bruising on his right trap where Bucky had grabbed him a little too hard during a lift. It would fade before the next live on Monday and if not, that’s what different costumes were for. Gwen had gotten him new gloves and a new Webslinger tank, the design not yet released on his merch page, to wrestle in as housewarming presents.

Peter finished drying himself off and wandered back into his bedroom to slip into some fresh underwear. There he stared down at his phone still hoping it might light up with a message from Wade even though he knew that was impossible. If Peter didn’t even have Wade’s number, why should he expect that he somehow had Peter’s? It was a preposterous and stupid wish. Peter docked his phone on the charger before pulling back his comforter and crawling under his thin sheets before turning off the bedside light.

He laid in the dark for countless minutes waiting for his brain to quiet down and for sleep to come, but it refused. Instead of drifting off from the physical fatigue that he was slowly becoming accustomed to, he found himself stuck on what had happened with Wade in the locker room, which in turn led back to what transpired earlier in the ring. His cheeks began to heat at the rehash of one… okay, two embarrassing moments that had come out of seemingly nowhere.

When he thought about how happy they’d been in that moment, joking with each other, laughing at how silly they must have both looked wrapped up in one another like two giddy teenagers playing a more hands-on version of Twister… was that? He felt something tighten in his groin again, and Peter groaned because he didn’t even have to look down to know what was happening. Why was it that thinking about Wade, imagining his face, seeing the corners of his eyes crinkle closed as he leaned up to… Peter startled and kicked his sheets off the bed.

 _I wanted that_ , he thought, bringing his fingertips up to his lips. His body had reacted to the heat of another person, true, but the tightening in his chest and, subsequently, in his crotch… that had been _because_ it was Wade. And if the erection he was sporting in his boxer briefs now was anything to go by, the only part of him that hadn’t caught up to the fact yet was his conscious awareness.

But now that ignorance was over, and it hadn’t even been the least bit blissful.

With clearer sight than he might have ever had before, Peter could view all of their past interactions in a different light. Had he been… flirting with Wade? Had Wade been flirting back with Peter, without him even realizing it? Was that why, when Peter had snubbed him in the locker rooms a second time, he’d been so quick to revert back to his previous cold disposition? Did he think Peter was playing with him? Did Peter even understand what he was asking for by messing with someone like Wade?

He pushed his sheets down and kicked them off onto the floor. If he’d thought he’d taught his traitorous body a lesson before, he was dead wrong. There was even a tiny wet spot starting to grow on the outlined tip of his cock now straining the front of his underwear. This was going to be a long night if he didn’t do something about it and the idea of another cold shower wasn’t very appealing when he knew he could easily solve this in a quicker and more efficient manner.

When was the last time he’d been touched like that?

Living with Aunt May had been tricky growing up. On one hand, he knew that she was aware she housed an ordinary teenager under her roof who might, at some point in his prepubescent life, be prone to… certain activities. But he hadn’t even wanted her to be aware of the possibility that he might occasionally think about jerking it in his bedroom… or the bathroom.

So those thoughts had never materialized into anything beyond the realm of fantasy because he’d always gotten hung up on the fact that the space he shared with his Aunt was communal and maybe if he did act on anything, she’d know somehow and be disappointed in him. The thought alone had been an instant buzzkill to his hormones… until MJ.

Oh, MJ. How he’d relished any opportunity to go over to her place when her parents worked late and there was no one around to tell them to keep the door open or remain more than two feet apart at all times… That had been Peter’s first real sexual awakening. But once they’d broken up after he’d decided to go semi-pro at eighteen, all of the desires she’d stirred in him before had subsided into background noise and not risen to be heard from since.

It made sense, if he thought about it.

First he’d been too sad, and then he’d been too busy all while living with his aunt… a lot of the same reasons that had made him abstain from masturbating in his youth were still present as long as he lived under her roof. He’d only been on his own for a few months now and was only just getting used to everything. Forming an everyday routine to live by was still something he was more focused on rather than the fact that he could now do whatever he wanted without consequence or judgement. And, by that logic, was it really so strange for him to be twenty years old and unfamiliar with the idea of touching himself?

He reached down in between his legs with his right hand and ran the flat of his palm over the hard line of cock. The added friction caused it to twitch in more than moderate interest. It’d been a long time since it’d seen any action, and Peter had very clearly tried to deny the both of them earlier today. Peter closed his eyes and gripped himself through his underwear, stroking more fully with all of his hand.

How would it feel without a layer of clothing separating skin on skin? How would it feel if it wasn’t his own hand? What if it was, he gasped as the thought came unbidden to him, Wade’s?

He repeated the motion again, adding more pressure this time and biting his lip to stifle a weak groan.

Had it always felt like this? It’d been so long since he and MJ had fooled around… but if it felt so good, why had he ever stopped wanting it?

Before he could think better of it, Peter’s free hand came down to thumb at the waistband of his boxers and then it became harder to breathe as he was finally able to grasp all of himself in hand. It was a little uncomfortable at first, much too dry, but the quick addition of some spit and the added wetness leaking out of the tip of his cock was enough to ease some of the chaffing.

As he fisted himself, Peter kept his eyes shut to better access the memory.

Wade was hot, in both a literal and a metaphorical sense. The man gave off heat like a furnace whenever they worked out or wrestled together and if Peter had never seen his face or hands body outside of his wrestling costume, he would have thought Wade possessed all the classical features of a Greek god; an Adonis with a physique flawless beyond compare. He was well proportioned, his muscle not beguiling any strength they did not already possess, and his smile… was it cheesy for Peter to find it one of the most attractive things about the man?

He’d loved MJ because of her bubbly personality and her dazzling smile before he’d ever dreamt about having her body. And when she’d given it to him and himself to her, that only made what they had more special. Would it… could it be the same with a man? With Wade? Peter moaned as his hand picked up the pace, stroking fast enough to bring just a hint of that delicious chafing friction from earlier back again.

He was going to come, he could feel it, he was so close, he just needed… _more_.

 _You feel me?_ he heard Wade’s voice echo in his mind and suddenly it was Wade’s hand, not his, and the sounds in his bedroom were them, not him, and he was gripping the bed with his free hand, digging at the sheets and spilling all over his stomach.

His imagination didn’t stop there though. When he was finished, slowly sinking back down from the high his orgasm supplied him with, his brain went the extra mile to recall Wade’s face, brilliant blue eyes and a charming smile, from when they had been practicing submissions on the mat. This Wade looked at Peter more intently, and Peter found he himself imagining that he was leaning down into the apparition as it lurched forward to close the space between their lips.

He’d been kissed before; Aunt May had kissed him plenty of times and MJ, too, though those ones had obviously been less… platonic in nature. The point was, they were all still kisses and had been very much real and happening to his corporeal body instead of only in his mind. But this kiss, despite happening behind his eyelids and only existing outside of reality, felt so much more intense than any of the others he’d ever experienced before. The idea of Wade licking his way into Peter’s mouth, no masks in their way, hot hands roving over his unclothed chest… Peter shuddered with how badly he wished the fantasy could be real.

After he’d rinsed himself off in the bathroom and before he drifted off to sleep, he promised himself he would talk to Wade properly.

If he wanted to think about Wade romantically, the least he could do was tell Wade how he really felt, clear up any misunderstanding he’d caused earlier in the locker room. Would Wade even like Peter the way he’d imagined? If he wasn’t onboard with the idea of Peter being into him like that, well then, maybe his rejection would be just the thing needed to stifle these unnecessary daydreams before they could grow into anything more than just that… dreams.

Peter could always find other outlets for his desire, or none at all - he’d made it this far in life ignoring his baser needs, and he hadn’t died. Contrary to popular belief, these feelings weren’t worth ruining their friendship over. They would talk about it and soon.

Wade deserved to know.  
  


* * *

  
The following day was just as stressful and overwhelming as the day before, but for other reasons.

Gwen called Peter first thing in the morning, entirely too excited for an impromptu meeting with the head writer of MMW. She’d driven by to pick him up about an hour later and shoved a latte and some kind of egg sandwich with meat into both of his hands before telling him to buckle up.

The actual meeting itself didn’t last much longer than fifteen minutes and was basically just upper management congratulating him on a successful integration into their Monday night show’s line-up. Spider-Man was clearly a huge hit with the fans. Adults wanted to meet him and children wanted to be him. Even the rivalry that Modern Marvels had been steadily building up between Spider-Man and Pileta de Muerto was still a top trending tag on social media for the company, and the writer’s couldn’t have been happier about it, which is why their meeting had been scheduled in the first place.

There were going to be some… changes occurring after the next pay-per-view event, coming up in two weeks.

When the stylish looking brunette, with her hair in a chignon, told Peter what was going to happen from her side of the long boardroom table, he mentally checked out.

What they were saying couldn’t be right.

He hadn’t debuted more than three months before. Why would they ask him to purposely lose a match? And not just any match, a mask versus mask match! The writers had steadily been setting him up for a betting match between Spider-Man and Pileta de Muerto all along and now it was finally going to come to a head.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out how this match was going to end.

There could only be one loser, and there was no way Wade would ever agree to losing his mask on national television if he was as self-conscious about the way he looked as Peter suspected. Not only that, the man had managed to keep his mask for two straight years despite participating in other mask versus mask boughts; he had been the one to win masks off other pro-wrestlers during his tenure including big names like Iron Man and Taskmaster.

Wade had seniority and fan rapport tens of thousands of times over Peter. There was no way Spider-Man wouldn’t be the one drawing the short straw.

So instead of arguing, because he knew it was pointless if he wanted to keep his job, Peter remained silent and did his best to pretend he wasn’t even there. Gwen handled the rest of the talking and gathering of information about the upcoming event’s match time, stipulations, and whatever else upper management deemed her worthy of knowing.

Peter just sat idly by, not even bothering to listen.

He came back to reality shortly after they walked out of the meeting room. The wakeup call came when Gwen slapped him playfully on the back. She was all smiles about the latest development and eager to congratulate him.

“Can you believe that!? You totally won them over! No one gets to be part of a main story line this quick! You’re really something, Spidey!” She praised him in a hushed tone as they walked down the long hallway of the main office building in which the company’s headquarters ran their business.

But Peter didn’t feel like much of anything as Gwen steered him towards the exit. “They’re going to take my mask,” he heard himself mumble through numb lips.

“Well, yeah,” he half heard Gwen say, one of her arms coming up to sling around his neck. “That’s sorta the price you have to pay for fame, ya know? But it’s not like you’ll be all nekkid or anything. Didn’t you hear about the new character they’ve made for you? Veno-whatever. Those concept designs the writers commissioned look so cool, and even though you won’t exactly have a mask, you’re going to get full body paint jobs before your televised matches. No one’s really going to be able to see what you look like under all that black and red paint anyway.”

“But I’ll never get my mask back after this. Ever. They’ll basically _kill_ Spider-Man,” Peter explained with some heavy finality.

“I mean,” Gwen stopped them long enough to withdraw her arm and walked around Peter until she was in front of him. “You make it sound pretty awful when you say it like that… Spider-Man _is_ you, but he’s also _not_ you? He’s just a persona. It’s not like they’re doing it because they don’t like your character. It’s actually the complete opposite!”

Looking away from Gwen and clenching his fists at his sides so tightly that the muscles of his arms shook, Peter had to bite his lip to ground himself. “But they may as well!” he burst out. “Spider-Man is a part of me. I don’t understand why, if I’m as popular as you all say I am, I’d need to stop _being_ him!”

Gwen’s hands came up to lift Peter’s chin. “Didn’t you hear what they said in there?”

Peter’s brow furrowed and his eyes darted anywhere else but Gwen’s face because no, he hadn’t.

“Honestly?” he said, “I stopped listening after they said the words: mask versus mask. I don’t need to be told who the loser is going to be. Wa-” he almost slipped. “Pileta’s too famous to lose his mask this late in his career. I know they meant for me-”

“No, Peter!” Gwen cut him off. “I meant the other part! Don’t you realize _why_ you need to lose your mask? It’s not just for theatrics! You and Pileta are going to be partners!”

Peter felt his eyes widen in realization. “Wha- what?”

Gwen groaned and took her hands back to plant them both haughtily on her hips. “He’s a heel, and you’re a face. If you’re Spider-Man and good, the two of you can’t create a new faction together. Faces and heels don’t play nice; you know that! One of you has to change sides. That’s why you’re going to be Venana something or other!” She spoke to him like he was a child who didn’t understand how the plot of wrestling story lines worked.

“Haven’t you two been getting along better recently, too? Isn’t he, like, your biggest dude crush ever? I really thought you would be more excited about all of this but now I’m starting to worry!”

Peter didn’t know what to say to any of that, so instead he said nothing.

“Peter, please,” Gwen begged, her voice cracking as she dropped a hand from her hip and brought it up to rest lightly on his shoulder. “Please tell me I didn’t make a mistake when I told the execs in a meeting last month that you two would be so stoked to work together more frequently.”

Those words broke him.

“I… I can’t,” Peter finally managed before gently removing her hand and walking away without another word.


	6. Sunset Flip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Sunset-Flip is a move where the attacking wrestler dives over their opponent, who is facing them and usually bent forwards, and catches them in a waist-lock from behind while landing back-first behind the opponent. From this position, the attacking wrestler then rolls forward until they are seated, pulling their opponent over backwards and down onto the mat so that they land with their back in a sit-out pin position. Wrestling stars like Alexa Bliss and Melina are known to use this move as their finisher.

* * *

  
A week and a half passed before Peter saw Wade again. He had planned on telling Wade about his feelings the next time they met, but everything about their upcoming match was still so overwhelming that he just… couldn’t.

In the end, he’d bailed on Wade every time they were supposed to be working out or practicing for their upcoming betting match.

It was actually kind of scary how it almost didn’t matter that he’d given Wade the cold shoulder because, up until that point, they continued played their roles perfectly in the ring as scripted by the writers. Spider-Man had confronted Pileta de Muerto the following live after that fateful meeting and had demanded they resolve their feud with one final fight, winner take all, a mask versus mask match. The crowd had gone wild at the announcement, and Peter’s heart sank ever deeper as their cheers grew louder. When he rushed to creep back behind the curtains and slink off to his dressing room, it was all he could do to avoid Wade.

He knew they needed to talk, but he just wasn’t ready for that.

Now whether or not Wade had any strong feelings about Peter’s sudden compulsion to ditch him, Weasel wasn’t willing to stand for Peter stiffing them before a big event. It was his, presumably angry, text to Gwen that got her over to his condo earlier in the week, begging him to hurry up and schedule a practice match with Wade as soon as possible. She’d even offered to handle all of the arrangements as long as she knew Peter would attend because Gwen was well aware that he was still upset about the whole loss of mask thing.

Losing your mask was like losing your whole identity. Peter hadn’t been wrong when he’d said it would effectively kill off a part of him. He’d never be able to go anywhere again without someone recognizing that he was once Spider-Man. He and Peter Parker would forever be one and the same, and fame came with a heavy price that he was not quite ready to pay.

That thought alone was terrifying.

So no matter how much Gwen tried to help, she couldn’t force Peter to do what he didn’t want to. Even though he knew that big matches like theirs needed extra prep time, he still couldn’t bring himself to respond to Weasel’s angry texts. Both he and Gwen had requested to be present and supervise the practice just like they had with Spider-Man’s debut. The upcoming fight would have to be more than just skillfully executed, it would also have to be highly entertaining. What was the point of building up hype for their fans if their mask versus mask match, one of the rarest events in professional wrestling, was going to be over in less than a few minutes with weak moves and no suspense?

Gwen finally got him when she offered to accompany him to his first body painting session with the artist set to be in charge of applying his new character makeup before matches. Peter had agreed to the meet-up because the guy wanted to test out a couple different types of paint on Peter’s skin to make sure he wasn’t allergic to anything. The dude was definitely skilled and did the best he could to recreate one of the concept designs. This kind of work was tricky, transferring sharp lines onto an uneven surface like a human body, but the overall effect had been pretty stunning.

When the artist asked for a short break to clean his brushes and ready a camera for some promo shots, Peter had taken a moment to excuse himself to the nearest bathroom. Looking in the mirror, even Peter didn’t recognize himself.

Gwen had been right, with a face full of black and red paint, no one would be able to tell who he was underneath. That knowledge just made the experience all the more surreal for him. Everything about his new persona Veneno, or Venom a translation app had revealed, was completely foreign to him. The convoluted feelings welling up inside his chest the longer he stared at himself were, too.

Peter was relieved when he returned to the studio to find Gwen waiting for him. A few photos later, and she was helping him get cleaned up.

It took about twenty makeup wipes, all stained pitch black before they were both buckled into her car and zipping across town to find a nearby drive-through. Gwen offered to pay, and for once, Peter didn’t argue. He felt guilty for being stand-offish with her since their meeting with the company’s head writer and her matchmaking decision. Still, he couldn’t get himself to accept what was shortly going to become his new reality.

The more he thought about it, the less willing he was to lose his mask.

Spider-Man was a part of him, had always been with him since he was a kid dropping elbows on pillows in Aunt May’s living room. It didn’t feel right to let that piece of himself go so easily just because some big-headed hotshot in a suit thought it would be better for business. Because at the end of the day, that’s what everything was about: how many tickets they could sell or how much merch they could push. Peter’s paycheck relied on that as much as their own, so he intrinsically understood why they were doing what they were doing, but it didn’t mean he had to be willing to accept it.

He took the burgers and fries Gwen passed him and slowly began to nibble on them as Gwen pulled into a parking spot.

“Okay, Parker.” Gwen shifted her car into park and unclipped her seatbelt so that she could turn and face him properly. “This moping of yours has to stop. If you’re not okay with this, then you may as well hang up your web because MMW is never gonna let you go and be Spider-Man for anybody else now that you’ve signed a contract with them.”

Peter sighed and slowly began the process of rewrapping his meal before stuffing it back in its takeout bag. “Gwen…”

“No, Peter,” Gwen cut him off, a sharp look of disapproval on her face. “You listen. I’m not trying to be the bad guy here… I’m trying to be straight with you. I know you appreciate logic as much as I do and there’s no way around this.”

She placed a hand on Peter’s left arm. “You’re going to lose your mask whether you like it or not, whether you wrestle or not. It’s in the fine print of every superstar’s contract that you do as you’re told, or you get cut. So you‘re going to _do as you’re told_ , not because you like it or even because it’s what you want to do, but because you have to if you want to stay here and get paid. They own Spider-Man now, and it’s not up to you what happens to him. The sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

“I know that!” Peter turned and snapped at her. “I know all of that! That’s what makes this even harder!” Feeling tears begin to well up in the corners of his eyes, he slammed his head back into the headrest of his seat and stared aimlessly up at the interior of her car. “I know I’m being a brat, and I know it’s stupid to stress over something I’m powerless over, but this… it means so much to me, and I just wish I could have had a say in the decision somewhere along the way. Did… did P-D-M agree to this, too? Were you even okay with it?”

Gwen had clenched her fingers when he startled her but slowly withdrew her hand after his last statement, somewhat guiltily. “Of course he knew Peter… I mean, he probably knew as much as I did, that you were going to face him and lose your mask. Heck, I was okay with it too because I don’t think either of us realized how big of a deal this was going to be to you. Haven’t you trained with him without your mask before? Don’t you two routinely meet up for weeknight workouts now?”

“Well, yeah,” Peter mumbled. “I didn’t see the point of wearing it anymore since he’d already seen my face the first time we met. Which wasn’t on purpose, by the way. I did bring my mask the second time.” Peter finally looked over at her.

“So why’d you stop?” She confronted him and the answer was… much more confusing to face.

It would be a lie if he didn’t admit that he’d spent several minutes considering whether or not to bring his mask to their first after-hours session at Al’s, all those months ago. Even if Spider-Man was the better part of him, the stronger and more confident side of himself, something inside of Peter had told him that it would be a bad decision. So he’d listened and left it on his bed before leaving. Wearing the mask would have been like putting up a wall between two already hostile nations. The act could have sparked a war, so to speak, and Peter had wanted to prove to Wade that he had good intentions trying to reconcile their rocky start.

And it had worked, it’d worked so beautifully that Wade eventually came to trust Peter well enough to remove his own mask. The whole thing had happened so organically and felt natural.

“I never meant for it to become a habit,” he explained. “But it seemed kinda silly to bother showing up in a mask after we… became friends.” He didn’t need to elaborate more on their meet-ups. Gwen had already gotten an earful of those first few sessions. Heck, she’d even been the one to make sure Peter had the chance to work things out with Wade in the first place. Why would he need to tell her anything else?

“Peter, I hate to say this but… Pileta probably knew about all of this longer than both of us. Who do you think has all of the final authority before the execs give the writers a greenlight to start planning out a new storyline for him? They would have had to consult P-D-M at least once before they paired you guys together on a tag team. My input, that you guys seemed to get along well and have good chemistry in the ring, was probably just icing on the cake. I didn’t set this into motion; you and he did.”

The more she talked about it, the more it made sense.

Wade likely would have had to give the higher-ups his approval before they could start scripting them together otherwise they’d have started wrestling with other people more frequently in the ring. And truth be told, even if Peter didn’t like the idea of losing his mask, he wasn’t opposed to the idea of working with Wade more frequently… but that was only if Wade still wanted that kind of relationship with him once Peter finally told him how he felt.

How awful would it be if Peter told Wade he liked him, as more than friends, and Wade never wanted anything to do with him ever again? How difficult would that make it working with the other man from then on out? Would it even be possible for them to work together if Peter’s mere presence irked Wade?

Augh, everything was just turning into one big, tangled mess that Peter felt unequipped to deal with. He ran his fingers through his mussed up hair and set his takeout bag down on the floor, between his feet. “I’m… I’m gonna try Gwen. That’s the best I can do, all I can promise.”

“Oh, Peter.” This time she leaned over and pulled him into a crushing hug over the middle console. “C’mere you big loser, bring it in. This isn’t the best thing to make up hug over, but I’ll take what I can get.” Peter held her back and allowed himself to be comforted in her arms. It almost felt like Aunt May and gosh, he really needed to call her… too much time had passed since they’d last spoken, and he’d allowed himself to be messed up about this for far too long.

Maybe talking to his aunt would make him feel better… and maybe talking to Wade would, too. It had certainly helped with Gwen.

“So, about tonight…” he heard her trail off.

“What about tonight?” Peter slid back into his seat and brought his hands down into his lap after she released him.

“We’re gonna meet with Weas and Pileta to work on the match.”

“Is that why you offered to pick me up?” Peter asked, trying his best not to sound betrayed. Gwen nodded at him guiltily.

“I thought this was the only way I could get you to attend.”

“And you were right,” Peter sagged down even further in his seat.

“Sorry,” Gwen winced and pointed down at the bag between his feet. “Make sure you eat now, though, ‘cuz we only have enough time to swing by your place and pick up your things before we have to head to Al’s and start practicing.”

Peter found himself sighing once more and dutifully picked up his food to begin the unhappy process of cramming it down his throat so that he wouldn’t be hungry later. He still wasn’t happy with how things were going, but he hadn’t lied when he said he would do the best he could to accept it.

He was going to try… at least that’s what he told himself two double cheeseburgers and a medium fry later.  
  


* * *

  
They arrived at Al’s a little after eight o'clock. Gwen let herself into the gym first and held the door open for Peter, who followed in like her shadow off the street. This time he was all costumed up from head to toe, mask included, and ready to start warming up the moment they got to the back corner’s practice ring. He’d foregone his usual shorts for detailed pants that matched his short sleeve top; they were more presents from Gwen.

“Well, well, look who came crawling back in.” That scathing tone of voice could only belong to one person. Peter turned to glance at Al who was watching him eerily close behind blind eyes. Somehow her hearing was good enough that she could track him, and her head turned to follow his movement with each step he took inside her gym.

“Hey Al,” Gwen waved and let the door swing shut on its own behind Peter.

“Hey, yourself,” Al grumped and sucked in her bottom lip, presenting an unhappy expression to combat Gwen’s pleasant one. Heaven forbid she let other people know she wasn’t actually mean under all that sass. The look faded fast as she turned back to Peter. “Haven’t seen you in a while kid,” she tipped her head back at him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his words partially muffled by the tight fabric of his mask clasped under his chin. “I told Pileta to tell you I said hi and thanks for letting us use your gym all the time. Dunno if he did that or not...”

“Phfft,” Al snorted, rocking back in her chair behind the front desk. “I don’t let that guy do shit. He helps himself to my keys, and I’m just a frail old lady so what the hell am I gonna do if he takes ‘em? Fight him? Nope, that’s your job. I’m just gonna stay at home with my saggy old ass on my saggy old couch and listen to reruns of old TV shows.”

Gwen nudged Peter’s shoulder and started pointing in the direction of the locker rooms. There were two other people who weren’t affiliated with the wrestling company still working out behind them, so it was best if they moved along quickly before Peter’s get-up garnered any kind of negative attention from Al’s loud heckling.

“See ya later, Al,” Peter offered before heading off towards the practice ring. _Yeah, yeah, real punny,_ he heard her say over his shoulder and then they were stepping up to the familiar white and red roped platform that Peter had gotten overly friendly with Wade on nearly two weeks before. His gut still twisted at the memory, but nothing about the sensation was remotely pleasant this time.

He still felt horrible at how he’d left things, Wade clearly upset over whatever Peter had unintentionally done that night. To make matters worse, he’d also neglected to stay in contact after that night. But Peter meant what he said; he was going to have a talk with Wade… just not right now. Not in front of Gwen, Weasel, or even within a mile earshot of Al.

That conversation deserved to be had between the two of them. It might not even be tonight, but it would definitely happen soon.

“Well she’s a real ray of sunshine, isn’t she?” Gwen groused as she wandered over to the lip of the ring. She pulled on two of the ropes to make sure they were tight. “How about you go finish getting ready.”

“Sure.” Peter transferred his duffle from one shoulder to the other and excused himself to the locker room. When he pushed the door open, he didn’t expect to find Wade, also fully masked and gloved up, with Weasel, as sour looking as ever, camped out on the first set of benches nearest the door.

“Hey,” Peter said before he could think better of it. Whatever the two of them had been talking about before he walked in was abruptly cut off. Weasel even took it upon himself to get up and confront him by the locker room door.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mawdun Mawvuls’ biggest and brightest star. How ya doin’ Webbed Wonder?” Weasel mocked, untucking both of his hands from his coat pockets and crossing them over his chest like a dweeby version of a club bouncer. It felt vaguely like deja vu, similar in almost every way to their first meeting on the night of Peter’s debut match. The only difference between then and now was that Peter wasn’t scared of Weasel, and he trusted Wade to have his back.

“You and Al really need to come up with better intimidating one-liners. I’m pretty sure a high school bully could scare me more,” Peter told him rather frankly.

“Uhm, what the cinnamon toast fuck? I’m over here being all friendly, and you’re trying to blow me off?”

“No, that would require you to pay me first and there’s no way you could afford the price,” Peter retorted, not even bothering to spare another second on Weasel. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He walked around him coolly and moved to sit down on the now unoccupied seat near Wade.

“REALLY? Are you hearing this!?” Weasel whirled around and huffed aloud while pointing animatedly at Peter where Wade could see. If he could see that was… Peter knew that the full Pileta de Muerto masks Wade wore limited his visual acuity, but he’d never bothered to ask just how much.

“Weas,” Wade finally spoke, his voice sounded a bit more scratchy than usual. Regardless, it seemed to shut Weasel up right away. Readjusting himself on the bench, Wade motioned at the locker room door with his chin. He didn’t need to say anything else for Weasel to get the picture and see himself out, albeit rather grouchily.

“Yeah, have fun with your little circle jerk or whatever. [ Too many dicks on the dancefloor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z3LuqU-9bx8&feature=youtu.be&t=26),” Peter overheard him mutter darkly before slamming the metal door open and storming out.

Now that they were more or less alone, Peter felt confident enough to talk to Wade.

“Sorry I flaked on you the last couple of… days,” Peter tried to apologize, slumping forward and bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck guiltily. “I meant to text you but then I remembered that I didn’t have your number… so I was hoping maybe we could fix that now.” He reached down to pull his phone out of his jacket and waved the device around in front of Wade’s masked eyes.

“I’m sure you’re probably kinda… pissed.” He grimaced at that word. “And you have every right to be! I know you said I don’t owe you anything by showing up, but I like to think we’re friends. We are still... friends, right?”

He nearly choked on the last word because how long would this really last? Sure, they might still be friends after the little stunt Peter had pulled, but if he planned on asking Wade for something more than his friendship, and Wade wasn’t willing to provide it… maybe they wouldn’t be. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to work together anymore either, and Peter felt his breathing start to spike.

“Yeah,” Wade quietly breathed out from behind his mask. The word instantly soothed Peter’s nerves, and he watched as Wade reached out to take Peter’s phone. Even in gloves, he was able to tap his contact information in. Peter couldn’t help but feel relieved that he’d managed to resolve another point of contention between them. With Wade’s number in his phone, they were finally connected outside of their work. 

“We’re still friends.” Wade’s masked eyes appeared to look into him as he passed the phone back to Peter. Once Peter tossed his cell into his duffle and secured the zipper, Wade stood up and stretched his arms over his head.

“You ready to [ make Rhianna proud and work to the power of six](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDP_HuBaQfs&t=10)?”

“Y-yeah,” Peter stuttered out and heard Wade chuckle quietly behind his mask as he watched Peter get up and follow after. Once he finished shoving his jacket and gym bag into a nearby empty locker, Peter sprinted to catch up with Wade. A large red and black arm held the door open for him.

“After you, m’lady…” Wade joked, letting Peter exit first.

“Heh, always such a gentleman,” Peter played along as they made their way to the ring.

It was _almost_ like nothing had changed.  
  


* * *

  
“Quit dickin’ around you two! This is seriou- ow!” Weasel screeched as Gwen smacked him on the back of his head. “Why are you hitting me!? I don’t wanna wind up brain-damaged like those two clowns!”

“Enough!” Gwen shouted over him. “Can’t you see they’re _trying!?”_

“Well, I hate to be the bad news bear but trying isn’t good enough at this stage. They’re the main fucking event of the show! If they screw this up, they’re gonna be the butt end of every wrestling joke ever for years to come. You forget that this shit gets broadcasts live all over the world? Those live feeds then get recorded, get replayed, get _remembered_ forever! And your busted bug boy and my dead popsicle can’t seem to figure out which way is left or right like a pair of useless compasses!” Weasel ranted while waving an arm aggressively at the two wrestlers in the ring.

Wade and Peter broke apart from each other and stood up.

It was true. Once they’d both finished some light warming up and Peter had gotten into the ring with Wade, they’d immediately regressed back to the state of their very first practice. Every time Wade went to set up a move or reached anywhere near Peter’s head, all he could do was fixate on the end result of what it was they were practicing for.

His distraction led to him missing his cues that in turn caused him to rush to catch up with whatever else Wade was doing and soon enough, they were fumbling around with each other all over the inside of the ring. It was so bad, Peter had heard Gwen audibly sigh multiple times from where she was sitting, a few feet away, on a bench.

“Look,” Peter saw her bring both hands up to stop Weasel before he could start shouting again. “I think we all need a break. Maybe we should just call it a night and try again later.”

“Uhm, yeah, no. Do you know how many days we have left to do this shit? The event’s in less than a fucking week. There is still another live show that has to air between now and then. WHEN ARE THEY GONNA HAVE TIME TO PRACTICE WHEN THEY BOTH HAVE OTHER MATCHES! Tonight was it! We were supposed to figure everything out. To! Night!” The last word was broken apart and enunciated with claps from Weasel’s hands.

“I’m not gonna argue with you,” Gwen supplied steadily. “They’re going to need another session. There’s no way around it. We’ll just… we’ll have to figure it out.”

“Hey.” Peter jumped as Wade slid up next to him and whispered in the material surrounding his ear. “Don’t listen to Weas, guys got a Grinch-sized pole up his ass.”

That comment made Peter snicker, and he had to bring his hand up to cover the sound. It didn’t seem appropriate to find humor in Weasel’s anger because the guy was actually right, for once. They were all on very limited time. Peter’s previous hang-ups had caused him to miss out on at least three additional opportunities to practice with Wade, unsupervised, earlier in the week.

“Whaddya say we let them _take it outside,_ and youse and I stay back to put in a little overtime?”

The suggestion for them to be alone together caused Peter’s face to heat up under his mask. Was he really brave enough to do that again? Could his heart and his nether regions even stand the implications of what might happen between them a second time?

“Al!” Peter watched as Wade, in his full Pileta get-up, hopped out of the ring and marched over to her at the front desk. He slammed one large red and black elbow down on her knock-off marble countertop before his cloth covered face came to rest gently atop his gloved knuckles. “You cool if we kick it in your gym after hours?”

“Who are you and what have you done with the other one?” Peter barely heard her say. “I’m no fool. I saw Invasion of the Body Snatchers back when I had sight. Don’t make me [ put this cane to you medium style](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3UWsHVqN8M),” she threatened Wade loudly while reaching down to boldly brandish her white cane at him.

“Hah! Now that’s what I always love about you, Al,” Wade chuckled heartily over Gwen and Weasel’s incessant bickering. “You’re blinder than a bat, but you still have this mean ass junkyard dog fight left in you.”

“Don’t try to sweet talk me, Wade. You know where the spare is. Just make sure you lock up and put it back where it belongs when you’re done.”

“You betcha, buttercup,” he popped the P and pushed himself off her desk.

Gwen and Weasel were still duking it out when he got back by the ring. “[ Alright, alright, alright](https://youtu.be/EuER2Puym4I?t=34).” Wade helped himself into the space between the two of them. Both of his arms were out at his sides to help him bodily separate them better. “I think we’ve heard enough of your soon to be marital problems for one day. Why don’t you,” he looked rather pointedly at Weasel, “ [ make like a tree and get the fuck outta here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IAQfglRyPlM&feature=youtu.be&t=7).”

Then he turned his attention towards Gwen. “And you my dear, are excused.” He leaned over slightly to, Peter guessed, reassure her.

Whatever he told her, Peter would have liked to imagine that Wade did so lightheartedly, but both the angle and the mask he wore hid all of his usual expressiveness. Peter hadn’t been able to tell what kind of faces Wade was making under his mask since he’d arrived; if he was tired or put-upon by Peter’s presence or even if he was just as anxious and excited to see Peter as he was to see Wade.

It was at that moment Peter realized how much he hated Wade’s mask. It had never felt like an emotional barrier between the two of them before, but now it was like this sudden impenetrable wall he could no longer stand separating them from seeing one another.

Whatever else Peter might have been feeling got interrupted by Weasel getting back into it with Wade. He hardly seemed to appreciate people talking to him on a regular basis, but his especially fragile male ego couldn’t stand for someone belittling him like Wade had. They were already grappling, comically if Peter might add, before Wade finished talking to Gwen.

Unfazed, Gwen ignored them and strode over to where Peter was still standing next to the ring. She paused to look up at him for some sort of sign it was okay for her to leave. Peter only shrugged weakly in response and kneeled down to slide out of the ring next to her. He wasn’t exactly sure if he and Wade would be all right on their own, but he could only avoid everything for so long without there being some sort of negative consequence.

Tonight had already proven that he’d squandered too much time sulking. He had to face the reality of what was coming for him next week. No amount of wishing or pretending that it wasn’t happening had made anything better thus far; it was time to face the music.

Peter reached up to unsnap the the buttons underneath his chin and let the material at the bottom of his mask float open. He always felt better when the mask was undone around his jaw because, when clasped, it moderately limited his range of motion. Ironically, emotional comfort did not equate physical comfort, but he still wanted to keep his mask, no matter what.

“I really don’t wanna leave you all by yourself.” Gwen finally broke the tension as they continued to watch Wade wrestle Weasel into a headlock out of the corners of their eyes. “I’m the one who dragged you out here… I feel like I should stay. I mean, I still kinda feel like I’m part of the reason you’re having such a tough time. Maybe I shouldn’t hav-”

“No!” Peter reached over to grab hold of both of her hands. “No, you shouldn’t feel bad. I’m the one who’s been a terrible friend. I blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault. You were right, about what you said earlier. I’m the one who signed the contract; this is what I agreed to. I’m the one who needs to grow up and get with the program. You’re not to blame, Gwen. I just wanted to be mad, and I’m sorry.”

Weasel ruined the moment by retching in the background. “Oh, gross,” came his nasally voice, only partially obstructed by the facelock Pileta de Muerto was currently holding him in. “Have we been written into some kind of Hallmark movie? P, if we have to kiss and make up too, just do it, just snap my neck now. There’s no way, [in any universe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=Wade+Wilson%2FWeasel), I’m letting your gnarly guacamole face near mine.”

“Hah!” Wade countered, laughing and tightening his hold for the briefest of seconds to drag one last high pitched whine out of Weasel before finally letting him go. “That’s where you’re wrong! What makes you think I even want your milk mixing with my cocoa puff? There will be no [ milky, milky cocoa](https://youtu.be/iEe_eraFWWs?t=117) between either of us tonight, no matter how much you beg.”

Weasel squirmed out of Wade’s arms and started wheezing obnoxiously against the apron of the practice ring. “Gah, but seriously,” he continued to gripe while rubbing his hand along the front of his throat. “Did you really need to go so hard?”

“Ask him.” Wade nodded over at Peter while mock dusting off his hands.

Peter had never been more grateful for his mask covering a majority of his very red face. Where had that come from and why would Wade even think it was appropriate to bring up in the company of others? It didn’t matter if it was said without context! So much for forgiving and forgetting… Peter didn’t know whether to be upset, embarrassed, or both.

[ Both. Both were good. ](https://pics.me.me/thumb_both-both-is-good-my-left-brain-and-right-brain-58039736.png)

“You sure you’re okay?” Gwen asked him once more, noting his obvious discomfort at the previous comment. The look in her eyes told him she was serious about staying with him if he asked her to, and as much as he appreciated the gesture, tonight he knew he would have to do this on his own.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” he told her, letting go of her hands so that she could gather her coat and belongings from the bench.

“Don’t stress,” Wade assured her, leaving Weasel behind to walk up and join them. “I’ll make sure he gets home safe tonight.” A large, warm hand came clapping down on Peter’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Pileta.” Gwen gave him a smile as she slipped her arms back into her favorite white and black track jacket with the pink pockets.

“No problem. Pileta de Muerto is a bad guy, [ but this does not mean he is _bad guy_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eh4f8SUp-PU&feature=youtu.be&t=38) _,”_ Wade joked with her in a thick Russian accent.

“Of course you’re not,” Gwen assured him as she pulled out her phone. She gripped it in her hand tightly as she leaned in to whisper close to the fabric covering Peter’s ear. “You text me later, got it?”

“Okay,” Peter replied as he watched her walk back towards the entrance and say her goodbyes to Al.

It took even less convincing for Weasel to leave. Once he’d grabbed his bag, made the usual amount of inappropriate farewell comments to Wade, and gotten his fist bump from Al, he was out of there. 

They were nearly alone; Al being the last one to pack up her things and go.

Peter didn’t want to think she was purposely being slow about it, but she definitely wasn’t moving at mach speed. Thinking back to the last time they’d seen each other, he distinctly recalled her moving out of the locker room faster than his half-naked behind could finish getting his leg through his pants. For whatever reason, tonight she didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry.

“Is it just me or is she doing everything slower and backwards in time? Like a VHS being rewound…” Peter overheard Wade remark in awe as he thumbed at the velcro of his wrestling gloves. Once those were off, the only thing left was the full face mask he’d been wearing all night. Wade had chosen one with a longer hood than usual so, to remove it, the back portion of the extra material had to be flipped over his head to get at the laces.

“Do you want help?” Peter heard himself offer, reaching back to slip his own mask off and stuff it into the waistband of his pants. Al was blind after all. It wouldn’t matter if they gave her an eyeful of their faces when she couldn’t see so why worry?

Wade’s hands came to a sudden stop before he spun around in place, both arms coming down to rest at his sides.

“Sure,” came the muffled response. This probably wasn’t something most wrestlers ever allowed someone to assist them with. Unmasking a fellow wrestler, outside of an agreed upon wager, was a serious violation of the masked wrestler’s code.

The black laces stood out starkly against the deep red of Wade’s mask material, and it was easy to tell they were higher quality than some of the ones Peter had seen on imitation Pileta de Muerto masks. Peter hadn’t opted to wear his gloves for their practice tonight so there was nothing in the way that prevented him from undoing the double knot at the base of Wade’s neck.

Wade remained unusually still as Peter worked the laces through the eyelets from the bottom to the top. He didn’t even bother to stop Peter as he reached up to tug at the material and slide it off of Wade’s bald head. The pinkish scarring of his skin was the first thing to greet him before Wade turned around. He held out his hands to take the mask back from Peter and tucked it under his arm.

“Thanks,” he breathed out.

“You’re welcome,” Peter found himself saying just as quietly. Even though there was no smile on Wade’s face, Peter knew he was being sincere. He might have said something more but half the lighting in the gym chose that moment to cut off.

“I don’t care if you’re not blind, you two sure as shit don’t need the whole gym lit up to practice in the back. Don’t waste my electricity; I’m not made out of money!” Al shouted at them from up near the entrance.

“Cheap, old hag,” Wade muttered under his breath.

“Say that louder, I’ll finally have a reason to hit you with this cane,” came her immediate reply.

“Haha, yeah Al, love you too,” Wade called out to her before they both heard the front door slam shut and the deadbolt lock into place.

They were alone now.

“She’s really something, eh?” Wade remarked, cocking a hip to the side and placing a hand on it. “Old broad took longer than usual because she probably doesn’t trust me alone with you.”

“Is there a reason she shouldn’t?” Peter asked, looking up at Wade with inquisitive eyes.

His only response back was a wolfish and toothy grin. “Nah, you know I’m more bark than bite,” Wade told him and took his mask out from under his arm, tossing it over onto the closest bench.

“That’s true,” Peter agreed as he looked back towards the practice ring. They really ought to be practicing like they promised they would. He let out a disappointed sigh before pulling his Spider-Man mask back out and staring down at it. A hard hand came down on his shoulder and tightened.

“Hey, before we do this,” Wade’s voice was hard and offered no room for excuses, “you need to tell me something. You’ve been super jumpy all night and that’s not like you… you’re Spider-Man, not Jumping Spider-Man. What’s wrong?”

Peter heard himself swallow audibly. It sounded incriminating. Of course Wade knew something was wrong. Peter was a terrible liar and an even worse actor when his own feelings were out of control, and tonight was just a giant amalgamation of some of the worst things in his life clashing together all at once. 

“You can, uh… tell, huh?” he murmured without looking Wade in the eye.

“Course I can tell!” Wade huffed, playing at being offended. “I’ve worked with you enough times in the past couple months to know that you’re way off your game tonight and something is seriously bothering you if you’re trying to pretend it’s not so c’mon already y suelta la sopa!”

“I don’t… know what that means…”

“[ Why don't ya spill your frijoles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1yaq7XWJFE)!? Don’t make me guess. Something is wrong, and I want to know what!” Both of Wade’s large, ungloved hands came up, spun Peter around to face him, and gripped his upper arms tightly. Peter felt something break the moment Wade touched him; the feeling of Wade’s warm skin on his finally doing him in.

“I… I can’t…” he keened, crumpling in Wade’s hands. “I don’t want to lose my mask.”

“What?” Wade asked, sounding confused. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Well, y-yeah…” Peter finally got up the courage to look Wade in the eye. There was a weird look on his face that quickly transitioned from relief to anger and then to sadness. Why was Wade the one upset? He may have been part of the reason this whole thing was happening to Peter in the first place, but it wasn’t directly affecting _him!_

“I… I thought you knew!” Peter’s voice rang out accusatory, and he instantly regretted the way the words sounded as they came out of his mouth.

The expression on Wade’s face was suddenly guilty. Of course he knew. Gwen had been right again.

“Well, yeah, I mean… management approached Weas first, and he told ‘em we got along pretty well… might have even told ‘em we sometimes train together, I don’t know! Then they called me into the office and asked how I would feel if they assigned me a partner. Not like ‘Licia… I mean, she’s great and all, but mixed tag teams are purely for publicity. They don’t last long term,” Wade explained as if Peter wasn’t already aware.

It had been months since Pileta de Muerto and Black Cat had taken on another mixed gender tag team together. And if the writers would want to script another, more permanent partner for Pileta de Muerto, surely they’d figured a male wrestler would be the best bet.

“But you know, as we are now, we’re basically rudos are from Mars and técnicos are from Venus… a heel and a face can’t wrestle together as equals unless one of ‘em turns.”

“I know that already,” Peter snapped, feeling just the slightest bit patronized. “I don’t need you or Gwen to explain that to me!”

“Well,” Wade continued on calmly, “then you can imagine why upper management would rather you turn and lose your mask than me. You’ve seen my face, this is the stuff of nightmares. If the fans got one good look at his ugly mug, you can bet my career would be done for. You on the other hand...” A hint of appreciation leaked into Wade’s voice even though his face remained guilt-ridden. “Well, you’re not bad on the eyes, like, _at all._ So if you lost your mask and had to become a new character without one, there won’t be a massive uproar, and we’d be free to work together in the ring, full time, as partners!”

Peter didn’t know how to respond to any of that. Inside he was a mess of conflicted feelings. So instead of saying anything, he stood silent.

“I thought that’d be something you would enjoy as much as me, but now I’m starting to second guess myself and my decision to tell the board this was a good idea in the first place - I should’ve known better because I NEVER have those! The signs were clear from the start, and I just ignored ‘em all. First you were avoiding me, and tonight you’re no longer talking to me. If I’ve made things weird, can you please just say something, anything, ‘cuz you’re really starting to freak me out!”

“You thought me avoiding you was because I didn’t want to work with you?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely! You’d been avoiding me like the plague since our last workout. I thought….” Wade let go of Peter long enough to roughly scrub his hands over his own face. “I thought I’d made you feel uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing I’d ever wanna do!” Wade’s shoulders slumped at the admission, like the weight of his worries was bearing down on him physically.

“You didn’t- you _don’t_ make me uncomfortable,” Peter told him honestly. “But the thought of losing my mask _really_ does.”

“They didn’t offer you the paint job?” Wade asked, seemingly out of nowhere. His hands moved from roughly scrubbing at his eyes to pressing heavily on his temples. “I swear, I _told_ them that was non-negotiable…”

“You did?”

“I did?” Wade parroted, unsure.

“You told management they had to paint me?”

“I did,” he repeated. “I wasn’t entirely happy they insisted we bet our masks either, but I sure as shit didn’t want to leave you high and dry! You’re a masked wrestler for whatever personal reasons you have. It didn’t feel right to let them take everything from you just because I’m ugly as sin so, yes, the paint job was my idea! This way you’ll still have some sort of anonymity in the ring even if it’s not as good as your mask was.”

“Well, they did offer to paint me, and I do appreciate the gesture, really, but… Spider-Man is more than just me wanting to stay out of the spotlight. He’s… he’s important to me.” Peter’s head dipped down, and Wade brought a hand under Peter’s chin to tip his eyes back up.

“Tell me about it?” Wade gently coaxed. It wasn’t a demand but a request for Peter to share if he wanted.

And he did.

“You remember I told you I have an aunt, right?” Wade nodded. “I had an uncle once, too. But he… he’s-”

“Not with you anymore?” Wade supplied, keeping a steady hand on Peter’s chin. “You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to. This should be a completely voluntary thing and only if you’re up for it.”

Wade was so kind. The fact that he’d even bothered to negotiate on behalf of Peter while setting up their partnership, despite it turning into something that unintentionally hurt Peter in the process, was telling. He was still willing to renegotiate now, and that only made Peter feel more indebted to tell Wade everything. After all, if Peter really wanted Wade to become something more than just a friend in his life outside of wrestling, he’d need to know all about Peter Parker sooner, rather than later.

“His name was Benjamin Parker, and he was a good man. I… I had parents, too, before him and my aunt,” Peter recounted, closing his eyes to draw up the memories he’d tried his best to bury. “They died when I was young. I… I don’t even think I remember their faces anymore.

"When they passed, my aunt and my uncle offered to take me in. I didn’t think much of it at the time; what does a little kid know about the foster care system and how tragic it ends up being for a lot of other orphans? But I did my best to be a good kid. Wrestling? I picked that up from my Uncle Ben. We used to watch it all the time, take turns being these crazy characters. Spider-Man… he was always my Uncle’s favorite, based on a movie about-”

“About that one guy who gets bit by a radioactive spider and becomes a superhero? Yeah, I know that one.” Wade readjusted his hold on Peter’s upper arms.

“Yeah,” Peter chuckled. “And I thought that maybe one day I’d get a chance to be a wrestler too. Before I started my freshman year of high school, I wanted to do after school sports. Wrestling,” he clarified. “But money has always been kinda tight in our household. I don’t come from a wealthy home, Wade. I spent a lot of my life wearing second-hand clothes and eating free meals at school. As an adult, I understand why he said what he did,” Peter paused to bite his lip in hesitation. Wade needed to know the kind of person Peter had been before he became who he was now.

“My Uncle Ben, he told me to get my head out of the clouds. They didn’t have money for stuff like that; I should focus on my studies instead.” He could still remember how his uncle had said that to him in the kitchen on a dreary Sunday evening. Peter scrunched his eyes as a wave of shame washed over him. He didn’t want to see Wade looking at him for the next part.

“When he said that, it hurt. I thought he would support me. We both loved wrestling so much, and I… I hated him, _them,_ for that… I hated that we were so poor I couldn’t even do the only thing I’d ever asked for in my life. So I did that stupid thing every teenager does when they’re hurt and angry and don’t know how to handle it…” Peter clenched his fists at his sides. 

“Peter,” Wade’s thumb came up to stroke lightly at his chin. “Kids don’t always make the brightest decisions. You can’t blame yourself for something you did when you wer-”

“No! No, I do and I should,” Peter forced out with conviction. “I was selfish and stupid. It doesn’t matter that I was only 14 years old. My uncle, he was a really good man and I… I took that for granted.” A single tear rolled down Peter cheek as he continued on.

“My aunt, she told me they just wanted what was best for me, but I only wanted to be mad!”

Wade nodded along sympathetically.

Peter laughed weakly. “I fought with them for weeks, told them they weren’t my real parents, how I wished they’d never adopted me; I said horrible things, cruel things, Wade… and well, you can guess what happened the day I told my Uncle that I wished he wasn’t a part of my life.”

“Oh Peter, I’m so sorry,” Wade offered in a sad tone. His thumb stilled on Peter’s chin but didn’t leave.

“Me too… If I had known then, what I do now, I don’t think… I don’t think I’d have ever said that. No one deserves that. Can you imagine, dying and believing that your nephew, who you’ve taken care of like a son, hates you? Remembering the last words he ever said to you being so hateful? I’m… so ashamed of myself.”

More tears fell as Peter spoke. 

“My aunt and I were still arguing about it when she got the call telling her to come to the hospital. He’d… he got hit by a car. Work accident, you know how sometimes construction workers… he was picking up extra shifts, to earn more money for… for me. They didn’t want to _waste_ money on high school sports when they were saving to send me to college.”

Peter sighed heavily and leaned further into Wade’s hand. “After he passed, my aunt told me about it. That’s why my uncle wanted me to forget about wrestling, he wanted a better life for me. It just took me losing him to realize how much he really loved me.” Peter sniffled, bringing a hand up to cover Wade’s.

“I understand,” Wade conceded. “And Spider-Man?”

Peter ran the tips of his fingers over the grooves along Wade’s knuckles. “He was my uncle’s favorite character when I was a kid and after Uncle Ben died… I knew how I wanted to honor him. I wanted to show him I could be someone who was good and kind and always striving to do the right thing.”

“That’s why it’s so important to you,” Wade surmised.

“It’s more than just that… it’s how I keep my uncle close to me.”

“That’s… really beautiful Peter,” Wade spoke softly as he reached up to swipe at the trail of wetness on Peter’s cheek. “You are a good person, Peter. I bet your uncle would be proud of you if he could see you now.” The hand that had taken up residence on Peter’s shoulder slipped down and around his upper back to pull him closer to Wade until the only thing keeping them from melting into one another was their clothes.

“I know what that feels like… to want to be someone better because you’re ashamed of who you were. Why do you think I wear my mask? I mean, half of the reason is ‘cuz I’m fuck ugly, but the other half… remember when I told you we’ve all got our own reasons? Well, some are just more tragic than others. But Peter, I want you to know that yours is completely valid, and no one has the right to tell you it’s not.”

“Thanks Wade.” Peter sniffed and pressed his sweaty forehead into Wade’s chest. He’d brought his own arms up to wrap around Wade when he’d pulled them together. “You’re really… sweet.”

“Aww, nah,” Wade brushed off his words, the muscles underneath Peter’s head jumping at the soft laughter rumbling out of Wade. “I hear tell from some folks who’ve tried to take a bite out of me in the past that I’m actually pretty rancid so-”

A finger came up to press against the movement of Wade’s lips, effectively cutting off the chatter.

“There’s something else I want to tell you, too.” Peter leaned back in Wade’s arms and that thoughtful expression was back, the heated one that Peter had seen on him before when they’d been practicing submissions and pins right here in this very same gym. Between all the body language they’d shown and all of the looks they’d shared… Peter prayed this wasn’t going to be a mistake.

“I… Wade, I… I think I, no,” Peter corrected himself. “I’m sure I like you.”

“Well,” Wade chuckled while still holding Peter close, “I kinda like me too… except in the mornings because I am definitely not a morning person, but you probably guessed that already, huh?”

“No, Wade,” Peter groaned and rolled his eyes. Was it Peter’s own nervousness that was making this harder or was it because Wade seemed nervous too? He couldn’t tell, but it was now or never.

“I meant I _like_ you, as in I want to kiss you now.”

“Oooooooooh,” Wade drew out the sound. “You meant _like_ like then didn’t ya?”

Peter nodded.

“Hah, well, I’ll be damned,” Wade breathed out. His immediate reaction wasn’t visible disgust nor did he sound particularly upset about the emotional reveal. Instead, Wade was uncharacteristically quiet and unmoving, his hands still wound around Peter. 

And because Peter had promised Wade that he would never do anything someone didn’t want without their knowledge or consent, he decided to ask for further clarification. “So is it okay if I kiss you now?”

“You wha-?” Wade choked out, blue eyes widening comically.

“Me, kiss you, may I?” Peter asked a second time.

“¿Fue eso Inglés? Who even knows! But sí, so much Spanish yes!” Wade’s enthusiastic nod was gripped between both of Peter’s hands as he brought the other man’s face down to his level so that their lips could finally meet in the middle.

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut and he lost himself in the sensation of a rough mouth pressed firmly against his own. His mind exploded with the millions of possibilities that now existed because Wade hadn’t pushed him away. Should he be satisfied with such a chaste kiss? Should he seek something more like in his dream where he’d imagined Wade’s tongue licking into his mouth and deepening their connection further? He just wanted so much, maybe too much, and it pained him, almost physically, when Wade pulled away too soon.

“Hey, hey,” Wade soothed, still keeping a hand on Peter’s face and threading his fingers through Peter’s sweaty hair. “As excited as I’m about this new revelation, and trust me, I’m plenty excited if you’re feeling what I’m feeling.” Wade rubbed up against Peter and there it was, the physical manifestation of Wade’s desire stiffening up against his abdomen.

The realization that Wade wanted this too, maybe even felt half of what Peter did, was exquisite. There were no words to describe the feeling, so Peter just whimpered softly as Wade continued to stroke his head.

“But there’s still something we need to handle before we get carried away.” Wade’s hand tightened its hold in Peter’s hair and redirected his attention back on the ring next to them. “We still need to figure out what we’re going to do about you and your mask sitch.”

“But I thought-” Peter started.

“Nope, change of plans, honey,” Wade whispered next to Peter’s ear, and he felt himself shiver at the use of a real pet name; the kind of name reserved for exclusive use between couples. Is that what they were now? The idea of that felt as luxurious and sweet as actual honey, and Peter fought to stay coherent because Wade was still talking to him.

Wade’s blue eyes flashed in the dim light of the gym. “I need to know you’re with me on this, more than just the stereotypical 110 percent trope. Can you do that for me, Peter?”

“Of course,” Peter sighed as Wade pulled him back into the ring.

“Then let’s get to work.”  
  


* * *

  
The nights leading up to the pay-per-view went by in the blink of an eye. One minute they were in Al’s gym reworking their routine and the next, Spider-Man was walking down the long hallway of the stadium arena they were performing in.

It had taken countless texts to Gwen, reassuring her that their extra late practice had actually solidified the routine for the match tonight, before she finally let him be. Peter didn’t want to think that was a lie, as there had been some last minute changes he and Wade had worked in, so he chose not to dwell on it and focused on where he was going instead. Spider-Man’s dressing room was located further up the hall, but Pileta de Muerto’s was closer to the stage entrance. That had been done purposely so that the aftershow crew could interview him on his _surprising win_ in the ring.

Peter gritted his teeth and stepped up to the door. It took two knocks before the lock popped and the door cracked open a hair.

“Oh Dios mío Weasel, if you have one more thing to say to me before the match, I will put my foot so far up your ass it will be the new fall trend in fashion! What do yo-”

“It’s me,” Peter hissed, his masked face wedged as best he could fit it in the corner of the door. The space between the door and the doorway was so skinny, he could barely see Wade.

“Oh! Hey Spidey-pie. You [ knock, knock, knockin’ on mah door](https://youtu.be/f8OHybVhQwc?t=60)?”

“What does it look like!” Peter put some weight into his shoulder to help push the door ajar and nearly tumbled into the room when Wade swung it wide open. He just barely caught himself before crashing onto the floor; Wade’s hand might have helped steady him some and then the door was slammed shut.

“Sorry for yelling at you, I’m just so… augh, Weasel,” Wade grumbled like that explained everything while clicking the lock back into place.

“I understand your sentiment,” Peter agreed and turned around to catch Wade walking towards him, all decked out in his Pileta costume but missing his trademark mask. Under different circumstances, Peter might have been intimidated by a man as big as Wade approaching him with obvious intent. Today, however, he wasn’t. His hand came up to his mask to take it off, but Wade’s own clapped down on top of his, effectively cutting off the action.

“Leave it on,” he purred and ducked down to capture Peter’s lips in a soft kiss. This was the third they’d shared; the second having been after Wade drove him home once they finished their late night practice session at Al’s gym. But Peter wanted more this time, so he opened his mouth just slightly for Wade to get the hint and sneak his tongue in past the seam. The sensation was hot, moist, and oh so good. Peter vaguely heard himself groan in the back of his throat as Wade kissed him with his mask on.

It was like nothing he’d experienced before; the feeling of being Spider-Man, someone so respectable, doing something so improper in a dressing room not intended for quick meet-ups and hot make-outs.

“Figured that’s what you wanted the other night,” Wade whispered as he pulled back and ran his tongue over chapped lips. Peter shivered at the sight and that only caused Wade’s smirk to grow wider. He knew exactly what he was doing to Peter, but, instead of being angry about it, he wanted more.

“Wa-”

“Ah, ah!” One of Wade’s gloved fingers tapped lightly against Peter’s slick lips. “No names here… never know who’s listening in or worse. I’m already breaking the rules by letting you in my dressing room. You weren’t followed?”

Peter shook his head.

“Good,” Wade breathed and backed off. “Still remember everything we worked on?”

Peter nodded.

“Even better.” Wade turned and trudged over to his vanity to pick up his cowled mask. It was a nicer one than usual, just as fancy as Peter’s tonight. The producers of the event had paid a little extra to make sure Spider-Man and Pileta de Muerto had fitting costumes for one of the most anticipated events of the fall season. “Wanna help me lace up?”

Peter nodded again and made his way over to Wade. He took the mask reverently, the material resting delicately in both of his hands. Wade’s hulky form turned around and sat down on his dressing room stool. It creaked under his weight but held and put his head at shoulder height with Peter. The usual colors of his costume were inverted this evening, and Peter found himself taking in each and every detail of the craftsmanship as he flipped the hood and undid the laces up the back.

The mask slid over Wade’s scarred head easily. “That okay?” Peter asked as he leaned over to catch the reflection of the mask’s face detail as it settled over Wade’s eyes and nose. This version had a longer hood than usual, and Peter had rolled that up to make sure he put the mask on just right.

“Perfect,” Wade’s muffled voice came from under the material.

Peter then flipped the hooded portion of Wade’s mask over his head and took time to carefully lace up the back. The eyelets were black instead of red so it took some finesse before he was able to secure the material correctly at the bottom.

“All done,” he announced as he reached up to invert Wade’s cowl and complete the look. A hand caught his wrist before he let go of the fabric.

“Hey,” came a muted response. Peter’s eyes refocused back on the mirror where he caught their combined reflections staring back at him. His mask was decked out with sequins on the webbed pattern so that the light would catch and amplify every movement, and the black outline around his eyes and on his nose was a shiny patent leather. He still needed to go back to his room and don his gauntlets along with the remainder of his costume for tonight - two modified shirts that were stitched together around his waist with the spider logo on the front and his web-slinger catchphrase on the back. The look was designed to add some length to his costume since he would be wearing his now infamous sport shorts.

“You got this,” Wade told him quietly through the material of his heavy mask. “Now finish getting ready.”

Peter nodded and saw himself out of Wade’s room, making sure he took a detour before heading back to his room. Gwen would be there soon.

Sure enough, not more than five minutes after he’d gotten into his dressing room, Gwen was outside his door. He let her in and together they finalized the details of his outfit.

“You nervous?” she asked him, making sure to keep her voice calm and quiet for his sake. What Gwen didn’t know about tonight, wouldn’t hurt her. At least that’s what Peter kept telling himself over and over again as they made their way to the backstage waiting area. Spider-Man and Pileta de Muerto’s match was the main event of the show and because Spider-Man was the junior wrestler, he’d have to walk out first.

Peter watched the live feed of the previous match finishing up on the monitors backstage and waited. Wade and Weasel were just exiting his dressing room as the stage assistant gave him his cue to line up.

The arena’s lights went out and Spider-Man’s theme music boomed to life in the darkness. Peter got one last fist bump for moral support from Gwen and then he was walking down the ramp under the titantron before the lights flipped back on. The crowd roared and started chanting his name.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Peter strided single-mindedly down to the center of the ring. Every once in a while, he made sure to wave a hand at a screaming fan or gesture towards the cameras that were broadcasting tonight's event live to spectators’ televisions at home. Perhaps even Aunt May was tuning in if she hadn’t already gone into work that night.

Peter had never before imagined he could handle such attention, the rush of adrenaline he got from perfect strangers cheering for him should be overwhelming, but his mask gave him all the courage he needed. And to think some other folks wanted to steal that from him… Peter pursed his lips and continued his descent to the ring.

He didn’t even pay any mind as a few fans jeered at him from their front row seats. For every Spider-Man fan, there was an equally dedicated Pileta de Muerto fan. Peter counted himself among that crew, so he didn’t take it personally when they heckled him in between the cheers from his own group of supporters.

Finally arriving at the ring, Peter took off at a sprint to loop around it and high-five anyone hanging their arm out ready to receive one. The way the lighting had been set up made every excited face a blur. He finished making his circuit and hurried to climb up the steel steps leading into the ring before his entrance theme faded out.

It wasn’t a moment too soon as the arena lights began to darken once more.

This time an ominous tune began low and rose to a high in the background. The lights of the stadium flickered out and the LEDs along the ramp switched to red and pulsed in time like a heartbeat. The crescendo of Pileta de Muerto’s music soared as Peter’s heart thudded in his chest.

He saw the black outline of Wade in his costume and held his breath collectively with the audience as the spotlights turned to flash on him making his entrance down the ramp. Each step he took was confident, a resounding thud counting down the seconds until he and Peter would ultimately meet in the ring. Peter bit his lip to keep from joining the chorus of fans who were cheering for their hero. They only had one shot at this. and they needed to get it right the first time.

Wade shed his oversized red and black cloak revealing his inverted costume underneath. It garnered a huge response from the crowd and pyrotechnics flared at the end of the ramp. With his arms gesturing towards himself, Pileta finally made his way into the ring. He turned one last time to pander to his fans and then spun to face Spider-Man.

It always fascinated Peter when he went back to review the footage from their matches, how different he and Wade were when they were in costume and wrestling seriously. It was almost like Wade and Peter ceased to exist in those moments and two, _better_ , people took their places. That’s what it was all about, right? Peter took one last deep breath and swallowed his doubts.

He trusted Wade’s judgement and believed in them.

Pileta de Meurto thrust a hand out at Spider-Man like a peace offering. His gloved palm was face up, inviting. It almost looked like he wanted this to be a respectable fight, but Spider-Man had already faced him and his previous partner, Black Cat, multiple times in the ring before. He had to be wary if he wanted to play it straight.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see the announcers energetically chatting about the scene in front of them as it unfolded, no doubt putting emphasis on how momentous their match was going to be and what it could mean for the future of either wrestler.

“Hey.” The sound barely came through clearly over the din in the arena. It was all the reminder Peter needed to focus on what was happening in the here and now of the ring as the announcer spouted out the details of the match-up.

Spider-Man allowed himself to slowly reach forward and accept Pileta’s offered hand, but they never made contact, however, as a large black and red boot came up and kicked his hand away. The strike knocked Peter down onto his backside in the middle of the ring. Some of the audience cheered and others booed. Pileta was still up to his same old tricks. Before Spider-Man could recover from the slight, the bell rang out and Pileta de Meurto was stomping on him. The blows weren’t as hard as they looked, but Peter could feel every bit of Wade’s foot as he tried to connect with Peter’s body while still withholding most of the force behind his attacks.

Spider-Man threw himself flat on the ring and jostled every time he took a hit. The ref stepped in a moment or two later to tear Pileta off of him, but that didn’t stop the crowd from yelling about his late intervention. Peter turned his head sideways and watched Pileta rush up to the nearest corner and climbed the rope to feed on the reactions from his fans and non-fans. Bad guys had to be able to take heat, or negative reactions, or they wouldn’t be very good at their job. Wade was an expert and he played the crowd as finely as a well trained musician would a fine tuned instrument.

Peter pretended to struggle back up to his knees. As soon as he got steady on both feet, Pileta was on him again. The first blow hit him broadly over his back - Wade and he had agreed on a series of pulled and real hits that were going to have to happen tonight. Even though they never wanted to hurt the other again, this came with the territory of their jobs.

Spider-Man staggered, but his opponent held onto him. A second blow hit him square in the chest, all the air knocked out of Peter with a resounding whack. He threw himself back down on the mat, the first strike to his back stinging for only a second before the cool material of the ring’s tarp helped to soothe the burn. He could hear the audience booing in the background - Spider-Man had clearly been taken unaware and Pileta de Muerto was taking advantage of that.

 _How attached are ya to your mask?_ Wade had asked.

The shadow of a large hand covering his line of vision was the only warning Peter got before a gloved fist was tugging him up by the slack material under his nose. His hands immediately flew up to counter the force Wade was exerting and keep the mask intact against the pull. It was mostly for show. They both knew about how much strength it took to really tear a mask, and they’d agreed this would be another good way for the fans to get behind their respective wrestlers.

A real yelp escaped Peter when he heard the distinct creak of a stitch popping on the left side of his face and then Pileta’s hand was gone.

The referee was yelling something unintelligible in the background, and Peter’s hand came up to feel for the damage they’d caused during their little tug of war. Everything seemed to be in once piece, so he let himself savor a brief moment of relief. 

That only lasted for a second before big hands were surrounding the whole of his face and, surprisingly gently, pulling him back up to his feet. Pileta walked him into a rope and drew him close.

“Ready?”

Peter didn’t get a chance to respond before he was whipped across the ring to the other side. It was finally Spider-Man’s turn to take control. Peter spun around before he hit the turnbuckle; the thick padding that covered the metal face barely dampened his impact. It stung, but he needed to focus now because Pileta was rushing right at him.

He didn’t hesitate, just reacted. Wade had to do most of the hard work anyway, building enough momentum in his short sprint to the ropes so that he could clear it with a little help from Peter. His knees tucked so he could make it up and over the top. Wade landed precariously on the edge of the ring and had to steady himself to balance on the scant few inches the outer apron afforded.

Spider-Man took Pileta’s moment of adjustment to rear back and rush his opponent himself but got rewarded with a boot under the middle rope for his effort. With Spider-Man hunched forward to nurse his new injury, Pileta de Muerto’s arm reached over and guided Spider-Man back towards the ropes again. Once there, he tucked Peter’s head up under his left arm and swung Peter’s left arm over the back of his own neck. He looked like he was setting up for a vertical suplex over the top rope.

Wade’s right hand reached down on the other side of the ropes and tugged at the waistband of Peter’s shorts to signal he was ready for the lift. Peter bent his knees and pushed off the mat to help Wade carry him over the ropes; he trusted Wade to hold his weight.

Instead of slamming him out of the ring, Peter landed alongside Wade on the edge of the mat. His next move was to kick at Pileta’s knees, which Wade reacted accordingly to. After that came an elbow smash, meant to dislodge Pileta from his mount rather than hurt him. Wade retaliated with one of his own for Spider-Man, and they proceeded to trade a series of dramatic blows with their free hands while still hanging onto the top rope for balance with their others.

The dance came to an end when Spider-Man reared back to power-up for one last decisive hit, but Pileta was faster. He popped up off the mat and kicked both of his feet square into Peter’s torso, knocking him off the edge of the ring.

It really hurt, and Peter realized he must have bitten his tongue on the way down, hitting the edge of the mat roughly before sliding off the corner of the ring to curl up pathetically on the floor. Wade owed him so many tacos after this, he groused internally while watching Pileta wave at the audience for more reactions. Both of Wade’s arms were hooked over the top rope and his feet were resting comfortably on the ring’s floor as he brought a hand up to his ear to signify he wanted a louder response to his antics. 

It took a few minutes for Peter to work through the pain, and he dragged himself up off the ground and back to the edge of the mat. He needed to get back in there if they were ever going to finish this match.

Pileta had helped himself back into the ring proper and was just finishing up in an adjacent corner when Peter finally got both hands on the top rope. Before he finished stepping into the ring, Wade was on him again. There were hands behind his head, tugging on his arm, as Pileta raced them both towards another turnbuckle, himself on the inside and Peter still on the outside of the ring.

Spider-Man followed along with the motion, but got his foot out at the last second to abort the toss. Pileta’s shoulder crashed into the top turnbuckle and forced him to pivot on his heels just to keep upright. That was the opportunity Spider-Man was looking for. Peter snapped an over the rope kick to Wade’s masked head. The sound of the strike came from him smacking his thigh mid jump, but Wade sold the move brilliantly as he staggered and rolled back far enough away for Peter to begin climbing the very corner he’d been brought to.

It was perfectly coordinated, the way Spider-Man leapt off the top rope, managed to wrap his arm over Pileta’s neck, and spun them around for a 180 DDT in the middle of the ring. Wade had to do most of the work for this next series of moves, and he did not disappoint.

Keeping his momentum from the previous attack and sliding himself out of the ring, Pileta de Muerto got to his feet and spun around just in time to catch Spider-Man run to the opposite side of the ring, rebound off those ropes, and then flip over the set in front of him to perform a high-angle senton bomb that Peter had to land just right on Wade’s shoulder.

The last thing Peter saw before the move cut off his line of sight was Pileta de Muerto with his arms flung wide, ready to catch him. Knowing Wade was waiting for him, Peter relaxed and let inertia carry him until he crashed down onto Wade. They both landed in a mass of limbs on the ground, Wade having taken a majority of the impact.

By now, their match was one third of the way through. Peter could feel his muscles beginning to ache and his lungs start to burn from all the exertion. The announcer’s table was nearby, and they both took a moment to catch their breaths while the hosts continued to bleat about the events of the match so far. Words like _amazing, incredible, and insane_ wafted over Peter’s head, but he had to remain focused because there was still more left to do.

They took their time climbing back into the ring. Spider-Man, seemingly less winded than his counterpart, took back to the ropes and climbed again to try and sneak in another aerial assault before Pileta recovered. Peter waited until he saw the signal, a slight two finger lift on Wade’s right hand that said he was in place. Knowing he’d be caught again, Spider-Man leapt off the top rope aiming for a hurricanrana that got transitioned into a powerbomb.

Peter’s back slammed into the mat and air whoosed out of him once more. This was scripted to be the first pin attempt, so instead of letting up, Wade held onto Peter and rolled him up long enough for the ref to get up to a two count. Peter kicked out his legs, but Wade was the one who had to throw himself off in time or that really would have been the end of their match.

Slapping his open palm against the mat in a show of rage, Pileta got the crowd worked up and cheering for another pinfall. They both got up at the same time, and Wade rushed to grab Peter. Since he was bigger, it was easier to believe he was truly manhandling Spider-Man. Pileta executed a proper Irish whip and tossed Spider-Man back into a nearby corner. Peter turned around fast enough to catch himself on the top ropes and braced for what was coming next.

Wade rushed at him, black and red in a flurry of movement. Again, Peter didn’t hesitate and helped heave Wade over the top rope, just like he had at the start of their match. But this time, Wade _slipped_ off the lip of the ring and tumbled down onto the floor below.

Spider-Man got back on the ropes again and waited until Pileta de Muerto was on his feet and turned at just the right angle. He flew and caught Wade around the neck for a real hurricanrana this time.

It was a little sloppy, how they landed. Peter was starting to hit the wall, but he recovered quicker than Pileta and saw himself back into the ring. These rest periods had to be strategically placed so that the fans didn’t get bored by lulls of inaction but long enough for both participants in a match to catch their second wind. Peter fist pumped the air followed by a loud chant from the crowd.

 _Spidey_ , _Spidey_ , _Spidey_ , echoed all around him.

It wouldn’t make sense if Spider-Man tormented a competitor while they were down, so he did the best he could to make his rounds from one corner of the ring to the other and show-off for his audience. It gave him a couple extra seconds to rest but, more importantly, it also gave Wade time to recover.

He was just stepping down out of a corner, pandering to his adoring crowd, when cries of _look out_ and _behind you Spidey_ rang out and then there was a foot in his back. Again.

Spider-Man collapsed onto his knees, feebly letting go of the corner’s ropes, and was yanked backwards hard by a pair of hands that wrenched his chin up at an uncomfortable angle as his lower back came into contact with two unyielding knees along his spine. Peter’s feet were trapped under his own thighs and the restricting placement of Pileta’s boots. Wade’s fingers moved up to worm their way into Peter’s mask alongside his screaming mouth and tugged him further into the stretch. The only way to get out this was to either submit or to be clever.

Peter chose the smarter option and reached blindly for an adjacent rope. The ref began counting and as soon as he hit three, Wade released him. That was Wade’s second attempt at a win. Now, it was Peter’s turn for some revenge.

As they broke apart, their eyes met for a brief second before they got up to stand. Pileta was closest to the ropes, so he used them to hoist himself up. Spider-Man took a gamble and rushed at him, slamming his shoulder into Wade’s torso and ricocheting off of him and back towards the ropes on the other side of the ring. On his return, he greeted Pileta with a dropkick to the chest. Wade fell backwards and rolled out of the ring once more.

Peter took a moment to breathe and tried to picture the next move in his head. This was something he’d messed up repeatedly during their practice with Gwen and Weasel. Like Weasel had said, there were no such thing as do-overs on live TV. He had one chance to get this right.

 _Wade’ll catch me_ , he reminded himself.

Seeing Pileta back on his feet and ready to receive him, Peter took off for the ropes again. He needed to build speed, by rebounding from one side to the next, before jumping onto the middle rope with one foot and hurling himself to spiral over the top rope. His midsection landed perfectly on Wade’s shoulder as sturdy arms came up to surround him. Wade dropped them as carefully as possible to the ground so that Peter could roll off him and finish on his feet.

He couldn’t believe they’d done it!

Peter let out a whoop of excitement as the crowd started chanting, _holy shit_ , _holy shit!_ If Peter thought he was fading, all the cheering gave him his second wind. They were almost to the finish line, and he prayed their fans would still want them once they crossed it.

Reaching down to catch Pileta’s gloved hand, Spider-Man jerked him back up to his feet to retaliate with a whip of his own. The move started cleanly, but Wade was stronger and reversed the move onto Peter. He was slammed hard into a nearby barricade separating the action around the ring from the fans. Peter rolled around on the floor a bit to sell his injury - at this point, there was very little that wasn’t actually hurting in real life.

Pileta de Muerto took the reprieve and climbed back into the ring to lean forward and rest with his hands atop his knees. The ref began counting for Spider-Man to get back in, too, or risk getting disqualified as there were no rules in place to say that a competitor couldn’t win through a count-out. Refusing to face your opponent in the ring was as good as forfeiting a match in most people’s eyes, so Spider-Man dragged himself back over to the edge of the mat.

Peter was about to put his left leg through the middle rope when Pileta charged at him. It was easy to counter the swing he took at Spider-Man with one of his own, locking their upper arms and using the ropes to his advantage to transition the catch into an arm bar. Both of Peter’s legs flew up as he inverted himself over the ropes, outside the ring, and pulled with all his might to hyperextend Wade’s elbow.

The referee was on them both instantly. No one was allowed to hold a submission or a pin on the ropes for longer than three counts. Peter let go as he was told and used the top of his head and both hands down on to apron to balance himself in a headstand until he could get both feet on the edge of the ring. There was some incoherent shouting from the ref, directed at him, but Peter paid it no mind and instead slipped through the third and second ropes to finish what he started.

Wade was selling the injury by staggering aimlessly around the ring clutching his right arm to his chest. Spider-Man saw his moment and seized it by attacking with another armbar. He jumped at Pileta just as he turned to face him, planted his right foot at the top of Wade’s left thigh, and climbed him to kick his left leg up and in front of Wade’s masked face to drag him down for the lock up. They rolled until Peter got them close enough to a rope so that Pileta could struggle against Spider-Man and valiantly drag himself to the bottom one and break the hold. 

The crowd was screaming, some at the amazing turn of events and others in outrage. How could Spider-Man get Pileta de Muerto to submit with such a simple, overused move? Peter made a show of wrenching Wade’s arm painfully but was told to release the moment Wade got his free hand around the bottom rope.

When they got up, Spider-Man took a moment to tell the referee that he knew the rules and didn’t need to be told twice. His momentary distraction gave Pileta the opportunity to turn the tables and shove him into the ref. The impact was minimal, but wrestling was scripted, so the ref made a big show out of being hit and threw himself out of the ring.

Now was the final series of moves they needed to get through and then they’d be done.

He and Wade grappled for a moment, arms caught up in a front facing lockup. Peter could hear how heavily they were both breathing and couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face. This was what he lived for, these moments. Even if their plan failed and this was the last time Peter ever got the chance to face Wade in the ring, it had been an honor. He squeezed Wade’s arm, the signal, and Pileta spun Spider-Man around to try and seize him in a half-nelson hold. Pileta’s left arm weaved under Spider-Man’s and his right hand attempted to close the lock, but Peter shifted his weight and rolled forward to unbalance Wade and throw him off using a modified judo technique. 

When Pileta got up to turn around, Spider-Man was waiting for him with a high kick to the face. It stunned his opponent and sent him sailing back into a corner. The move seemed to have dazed him, so Spider-Man rushed over to climb the ropes. He made it to the second set before Pileta slid up underneath him and positioned Peter for a powerbomb in the middle of the ring.

This was supposed to be the end. The moment Peter’s back crash landed on the mat, the referee, who had been suspiciously absent from their match up until that point, magically reappeared to begin the count for Wade’s corresponding pin.

He tapped fast but only got to the count of two, and maybe a half, before Spider-Man kicked out. The audience was none the wiser, but the referee’s eyes gave away his immediate horror. _That_ was not in the script. The match was supposed to end. Pileta de Muerto was supposed to hold Spider-Man down for a three count and be crowned the winner.

As both wrestlers rolled apart, the referee ducked down on the mat next to Peter to hiss in his ear, “What’re you two doing!? That was supposed to be it! You’re gonna go over time!”

Peter smirked and huffed out a laugh. “You’ll see,” was all he could get out before Wade was peeling him off the ring floor and dragging him back into a corner. This was it, the _real_ finisher.

Pileta started his ascent up the ropes, one hand attached to the back of Peter’s mask to tug him along like a ragdoll. Spider-Man had to follow or risk having his mask ripped off. As Wade scaled the ropes, he readjusted his position so that he was facing towards the middle of the ring, both feet planted evenly on the middle ropes meeting at the turnbuckle. Peter climbed with him, facing the audience, because he had to. This was what they’d planned.

Using both of his hands to stabilize the two of them, Spider-Man slowly brought both of his legs up and outside of Pileta de Muerto’s and together they stepped up to the top rope. They remained teetering precariously on the edge of falling while Wade waited for Peter to show him he was ready. All he had to do was release the ropes, and Wade would finish the match.

Wade hunched forward to press his masked face against Peter’s spine. His rough, “I gotchu,” spoken into Peter’s skin reverberated throughout him and shook his bones.

Peter let go.

With permission given, Pileta leaned back to heave Spider-Man up and over, onto his shoulders, for a powerslam. As Peter got both legs around Wade’s neck, he shifted his weight backwards and tugged the both of them forward onto the mat as Spider-Man reversed the move into a frankensteiner, tossing his opponent across the ring. The move was a tricky one to perform so high up, and Peter crash landed on his hands and knees hard.

The loud thud of Pileta de Muerto’s body hitting the mat had the crowd instantly on their feet, screaming for something, anything, to happen next. Wade didn’t even flinch when the referee slid over to him and checked if he was okay.

“YOU GUYS ARE INSANE! WHAT’RE YOU DOING!?” was shouted next to his ear, but Wade’s focus was elsewhere. Across the ring, Spider-Man was crawling to get to him. When he finally made it, all he could do was toss an arm over Wade’s broad chest and collapse bonelessly on top of him for a pin. This was it. What was the ref going to do?

The fans demanded a count.

As they’d expected, the referee was put in the uncomfortable position of following the script, as he'd been told, or angering the fans, who were now loudly counting on their own. He couldn’t _not count_ as the match’s official, and Peter had already pinned Wade for the required three that should have been enough to deem him the winner.

So the official did the only thing he could do when faced with an inconceivable choice - he made the count.

One.

Two.

Three!

And Spider-Man won the match.


	7. La Tapatía

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La Tapatía is a submission move also known as a surfboard. To perform this move, a wrestler stands behind their fallen opponent, who is lying on their stomach on the floor, and places one foot down just above each of the opponent's knees while bending their legs up, hooking them around their own knees. Leaning forward to grasp both of their opponent's wrists, usually by slapping the opponent's back to bring their arms within reach, the wrestler falls backwards to compress the opponent's shoulder blades and lift them off the ground. Rito Romero Loza is often credited with creating the submission, and it’s a signature move of both Daniel Bryan and Jushin Liger aka Keiichi Yamada.

* * *

  
“Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn’t fire the both of you for your insolence last night?”

Nick Fury lived up to his surname, abruptly standing up and knocking his chair into the large glass boardroom table. It clinked dangerously loud against the crystalline surface and startled nearly everyone in attendance at the meeting.

“Well, Mr. Fury,” Weasel began.

“Mr. Hammer, you will give me your piss poor excuse for a logically thought out response WHEN I ask for it. Am I clear?” If the venom that dripped out of his mouth was enough to paralyze someone as bold as Weasel, there was no way Peter was going to even try and defend his actions.

“I think I can give you some pretty decent reasons.” Wade, wearing his Pileta de Muerto mask, threw up a hand and offered from his seat next to a bare-faced Peter. They’d been dragged into this impromptu meeting along with their agents to explain themselves over last night’s _upsetting_ match results. The only ones who’d known about the surprising outcome had been Wade and Peter. It didn’t feel right that Gwen and Weasel, even though Peter could barely stand the other man on a good day, had to suffer for their disobedience as well.

“You have one minute.”

“Well, surely that’s not enough time to-”

Peter kicked Wade discreetly under the table.

“Right, reasons, ‘ere we go: one, nobody outside of this company had any idea Spider-Man winning wasn’t part of the original script - the fans reacted the same way they always do for big match-ups aka THEY LOVED IT; and two, it wasn’t right for any of us to assume Spider-Man was okay with losing his mask without asking him first. Did anyone even talk to him about it beforehand? Don’t you think,” he paused for dramatic effect to turn his head and presumably eyes, because it was hard to tell what he was doing under that mask, the woman seated next to Fury, “you kinda rushed that storyline and put the cart before the hors-”

“Time’s up,” Fury cut him off. “It doesn’t matter what Spider-Man thinks of my writer’s storytelling. It doesn’t matter if he disagrees with what we _tell him_ he’s going to do. He signed a contract, same as you, and I’d expect the two of you to be men of your word.”

“We did the match, didn’t we? It was entertaining, wasn't it?” Wade rocked back haphazardly in his chair, clearly intent on arguing the principle further.

“That is beside the point, Wilson. I did NOT hire you to question my authority and if you have a problem with the way I run this company, you can see yourself to the door.” This was escalating too quickly for Peter’s anxiety and if no one else was going to say anything, then it was time he took ownership of his actions, too. He was just as liable for last night’s match as Wade.

“You’re right,” he interrupted their argument to apologize. “What we did was disrespectful to you, Mr. Fury, and to your company. We shouldn’t have changed the script last minute. But before you get mad at Pileta de Muerto, know that the change wasn’t his idea. If you’re going to fire anyone, it should be me.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Wade slammed a gloved fist down hard on the table. “Don’t even think you’re gonna try that old song and dance. I am just as responsible as you fo-”

Peter kicked him under the table again.

“Stop that!” Wade screeched. “Now is not the time to play footsie with me!”

“Enough!” Fury kicked the bottom of his very expensive looking chair to silence everyone in the room. “Do you both think this is some kind of joke?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Fury pulled his chair back out and seated himself swiftly. “While I’m not pleased with your actions or your attitudes...” He paused for a moment to point menacingly at Wade. “Wilson is right that your little stunt didn’t negatively impact our ratings.”

“And that’s all that matters right?” Wade piped up from his side of the table. The look Fury shot him for his insolence had him withering under its intensity. “Sheesh, okay already…”

“We understand that there are consequences for our actions,” Peter began again, more eloquently this time. “I think both of us knew that going into the match… we’re ready to face whatever disciplinary action you feel is necessary.”

Weasel didn’t say anything out loud but took the liberty of slapping his forehead and rolling his eyes. Peter saw him out of the corner of his eye and knew he was definitely going to hear his opinion about this meeting once it was over, whether he wanted to listen to it or not. Gwen, on the other hand, was oddly quiet. She hadn’t been waiting for him backstage when he’d finished his match the night before and to add insult to injury, she hadn’t said so much as a word to him since they’d arrived at the meeting today.

Peter felt it was safe to say she was more than just a little pissed at him.

“If I may, sir?” A woman’s voice disrupted the silence. It belonged to a pretty brunette with her hair tied back. Peter thought she looked familiar; she might have been present in his initial meeting to discuss his turn to Veneno, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Yes, Ms. Hill?” Fury granted her permission to speak.

“With all due respect, even if the match didn’t go as planned, no harm has been done to the company’s image. Really, the only damage caused was the referee’s hesitation to count and the announcement table’s on-air fumbling. I’ve been sure to check in with one of my younger interns who manages the social media aspect, and last night’s match-up is still trending high on various platforms. A majority of the comments seem to be pretty positive with fans saying the plot twist, though unexpected, was not unappreciated.”

“Go on,” Fury’s single eye turned to her and narrowed in consideration.

“Well, sir,” she continued, “I’d say that the original script we penned was fine but, from a long time fan’s perspective, overdone. I don’t think it’s necessarily a negative thing that their match didn’t resolve the _right_ way. As long as Spider-Man’s character keeps Pileta de Muerto indebted to him, there’s a lot of different avenues our creative team can take to continue to ensure Modern Marvels’ future matches are entertaining.

“In short sir, I believe it would do more harm to your company _if_ you fired them than it would to keep them. It would definitely make it harder for us to explain why two superstars, now a tag-team, need to depart so suddenly.” She finished her detailed speech as curtly as possible and sat back in her chair awaiting Fury’s decision.

“I should fire you. Both of you,” Fury clarified as he interlaced his fingers under his chin. “But I’ve just been told by a staff member, whom I actually respect, that it would be an unwise decision _at this time._ However, don’t think for one second that either of you are going to get off scot free. One week’s suspension with no pay,” he said decisively while narrowing his lone eye. “And if you EVER pull a stunt like that again and directly disobey me or my company’s orders, both of you can make rounds in the independent circuits under some other in-ring names. Until your current contracts expire, and _if_ I decide to renew them, remember that both of your characters belong to ME. Dismissed.” Nick Fury leaned back in his chair and swiveled it away from them.

“Phfft, that’s it? Just a slap on the wrist? Shoooooot...” Wade laughed as he got up. Before he could stir up any more trouble, Peter had the good sense to rush over and yank him out of the room by his arm. Weasel and Gwen then got up and followed after them into the hallway, albeit at a more controlled pace.

As soon as the meeting room door shut, Gwen was on Peter, grabbing both of his arms and gripping him tight enough to leave bruises.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!? You could have gotten _fired_ in there! Why would you- what did you-” She fumbled with what to say, gave up, and buried her face in Peter’s chest. “Why didn’t you _tell me?_ ” Gwen asked, her voice thick and nearly on the verge of tears.

“Hey, hey,” Peter’s arm came up to surround her. “I’m sorry we… _I_ didn’t tell you. I just… I didn’t want you to get in trouble too, for knowing and not stopping me.”

Gwen reeled back and elbow smashed Peter right in the chest.

“That was… SO selfish of you!” she shouted and brought her free hand up to rub roughly at her face. This was the first time Peter had ever seen her so genuinely distraught.

“I’m really sorry Gwen,” he tried to apologize again. “Even more so ‘cuz you still ended up in hot water. That was never my intention...”

“Yeah, and thanks for that!” Weasel rudely helped himself into their conversation. “I don’t enjoy being cooked like instant ramen so please do me a favor next time and DON’T FUCK WITH THE SCRIPT!”

“Take a chill-pill Weas.” Wade sauntered over and put a calming hand down on Weasel’s shoulder. “You heard Ms. Hill, no real harm done. Fury thinks suspending me for one week without pay is a huge blow, but I honestly could give two shits what he thinks. Your job was safe the whole time so take your twisted panties outta yer asscrack.”

“And you!” Weasel took that as an invitation to round on Wade, who was still parading around in his full mask and casual clothes. “I don’t know what the hell came and scrambled up those few brain cells you have left. Did you forget that your success is _my_ success; your failure is MY MOTHERFUCKING FAILURE!? Of course my job depends on you! If I can’t manage a single star, do you really think Fury’s gonna keep ol’ Weas around for much longer? You actually _have_ a future doing this sport! The best I can do is manage, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t gamble with my livelihood like this is poker night and you’re Domino.”

“That girl is unnaturally lucky though,” Wade mused, bringing a hand up to stroke at his chin in thought.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think right now! For the next week, while you’re suspended from the ring, you’re also suspended from shooting texts to my phone! I’m _actually_ mad at you this time!” And with that, Weasel adjusted his dingy track jacket and stomped off.

“Oh yeah?” Wade called out after him. “This was an A and B conversation anyway, C yourself out of it, ya’ turd!”

That remark earned him a very rude gesture, cooly given by Weasel over his shoulder.

“Ha ha, real mature,” Wade mocked and turned back to Peter and Gwen who had quieted to watch the whole exchange take place. “Don’t mind him.”

“We, uh, won’t,” Peter finished and turned back to Gwen who nodded in agreement. “Are you still mad?”

“Of course I’m mad,” she huffed and wiggled her way out of Peter’s grip. “But I’m _also_ not a complete child, unlike some people.” The jab was obviously meant to poke fun at Weasel and his histrionics.

“You should know though,” Gwen continued on, “I’m not mad because you didn’t follow directions, or even because you neglected to include me in your little coup. I’m angry because you’re NOT just a job to me!”

Her hands came up and grabbed both of Peter's to turn them, palm up. She hooked her fingertips in his and hung her head with a heavy sigh, “You remind me so much of myself… I just want to see you be successful where I couldn’t. And jeopardizing that over something so… no,” she shook her head. “It wasn’t a stupid reason, but I hope you use more sense next time you don’t agree with something the company tells you. Just, don’t get fired, is what I guess I’m saying. I’ll really miss you...”

The sincerity in her voice made Peter believe her. “I’ll do my best, Gwen. I promise.” She looked at him at the mention of the _p_ _word._ Whatever she saw in his eyes must have convinced her because she let go of him and nodded once. Taking one more opportunity to clear the air between them further, Peter tried his luck with a joke. “Am I also banned from sending texts to your phone for a week?”

A sly smile split her lips. “Hardly! You have a lot of explaining to do. I can’t believe you two pulled that off though! Where’d you guys get the guts to try such a dangerous finisher like that!? I have so many questions, and I don’t even know how to begin asking them!!!”

Wade had stepped back to let them finish having their moment and before long, Gwen was waving goodbye and wishing them a happy mini-vacation with only a tiny bit of sarcasm. “Make sure you don’t slack on your training regime,” she called out over her shoulder.

“It only takes two weeks to decondition,” Peter acknowledged. “I know, Gwen. I’ll be good.” He saw her off and turned back to face Wade, who had been uncharacteristically silent for much of their conversation.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“You know it,” Wade said and pushed off from where he’d been leaning on the wall. “Ready to blow this joint?”

“If you’re asking me to partake in recreational drugs with you, no thanks, I’m good; but if you’re asking me to leave with you, yes please, let’s go.”

Wade laughed, good naturedly, as they made their way out of the office building. Peter made sure to pitch his sweatshirt’s hood up over his head as they walked towards the elevators. He’d chosen not to wear his mask to the meeting to avoid it becoming a further point of contention, but a part of him almost wished he had. It would have made sneaking out of their company’s rather inconspicuous headquarters easier.

Wade, on the other hand, was great. He made sure to step in front of Peter and shield him from curious eyes as they joined a small group of suits making their way down to the lobby floor. From there, they found an exit leading into a small alleyway and took the long way around to the parking garage across the street.

Peter had chartered a share ride to get him to the meeting on time, not expecting Gwen to do him a solid after he’d betrayed her trust the night before. Calling Wade for a lift had also been an option, of course, but he’d opted to play it safe without his mask on and see himself inside less conspicuously. Now that they were approaching Wade’s car, a metallic red sports car with black interior, he had to ask himself why he was still so hesitant now that there was something… more between them.

Wade flipped his key fob out and double tapped the unlock button. “You need a ride home?”

“If you’re offering.” Peter walked over to the passenger side and opened his door before dropping down into the bucket seat. Sports cars were something he’d never envisioned himself riding around in, but the vehicle definitely suited Wade.

Once both of their doors were shut, Wade reached up to start pawing at his mask. He made quick work of the laces at the back of his head. Peter might’ve jumped in to help him somewhere in the middle and then he was sliding the material off his head to reveal scarred features that Peter was slowly starting to become accustomed to. He gave Peter a smile that he could see himself looking forward to each day. The thought of Wade being present in his life, as more than just a passing fling, stoked a slow burn like coal heating in his chest.

It was a pleasant feeling.

“You know what the best thing about living in the South is?”

Peter shook his head.

“Tinted windows.” And with that, he reached over to tug Peter closer so their mouths could meet. Wade may have initiated the action, but Peter led the kiss. This time, it was his lips nipping at Wade’s uneven and chapped ones until they parted and let him in. He licked his tongue under Wade’s upper lip and traced along a row of perfectly straight teeth as Wade groaned into his mouth and brought a hand up to the side of Peter’s head to tilt it slightly, allowing them to get even closer. Once their noses lined up opposite one another, Peter sucked in a quick breath before diving back in for more.

The kiss might have lasted seconds or minutes, Peter lost count. It just felt so good and the stirring in his groin was the only thing that made him pull away before the feeling became too heady.

“Fuhhhh,” Wade exhaled and sat back in his own seat. “Sweetheart, you are too much. How am I supposed to drive this manual transmission packin’ a different kind clutch between my legs? Do you even…” His breathing slowed, and he readjusted himself in his seat to grab his seat belt and redirect back to what they ought to be doing instead. “All right, let’s get you home.”

“Hey, Wade,” Peter slipped back onto his side of the car and reached to buckle himself in too.

“Mm,” came the reply as Wade thumbed the ignition button and maneuvered his feet around to the correct pedals. The car roared to life and its delicate rumble beneath his feet gave Peter courage.

“Mr. Fury and Al both called you Wilson.”

“Yeah, and?” Wade’s right hand reached down towards the middle counsel separating them. He gripped the clutch and shifted out of first gear into reverse. He turned his head to look over his shoulder to safely back them out of their spot.

“Aren’t you… uhm…”

“Hispanic?” Wade jokingly supplied.

Peter nodded solemnly.

“You seriously interested in that story, chulo?” Wade didn’t check to see whether or not Peter gave him the sign to continue and instead dug out his clearance card to scan at the garage’s exit terminal. He opened up the driver’s side window, being sure to turn away from the opening while quickly flashing his card at the electronic reader. The computer accepted it and lifted up the gate. Once Wade’s driver side window was back up, they were peeling out of the garage and merging into traffic on the street.

“So, I don’t think I need to remind you how important it is that the next bit of information I’m about to share with you is given only on a need to know basis.” Wade turned and gave Peter the side eye. “Like, a super duper top secret _if you tell, I might have to kill you_ kind of secret.”

Peter chuckled at that because he knew Wade was exaggerating from his playful tone of voice. He brought a hand up to trace an X over his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Uuuhuhuhu you’ll regret those words,” Wade laughed as he came to a stop light. “Real name’s Wade Winston Wilson. Yes, you’re absolutely right. I am, in fact, Hispanic. Mezzican if you nasty, but only half on my mother’s side… hence the last name NOT ending in -ez.”

“Ah,” Peter said, studying Wade for any sign that belied the truth. “I kinda… figured, since you speak Spanish a lot.”

“Mamá felt it was important that I be bilingual before she checked out.”

“That’s… pretty wise, actually.”

Wade winked and shifted gears as they took off from the light. “My Dad’s some kind of good for nothing Canadian-trash mutt. I don’t enjoy that I have to walk around with his name attached to me like it’s something I should be proud of, but I do like a bit of alliteration and Wade Winston Rodriguez just doesn’t sound as good even though everybody enjoys a good rod,” he finished with a wink.

“Parker,” Peter whispered as they made a left turn onto a street just a few blocks away from Peter’s condo.

“Who’s a what now?” Wade downshifted and slowed to a standstill at a stop sign.

“My last name’s Parker. I’m not quite an alliterative masterpiece such as yourself, but I like to think Peter Benjamin Parker has a nice ring to it.” He shifted in his seat and gauged Wade’s reaction from his reflection in the car’s passenger side mirror.

“It’s perfect,” Wade told him and drove away from the intersection. “Hah, we make a real pair, eh?”

“We do,” Peter agreed. A few minutes later, they were pulling into Peter’s parking lot. He was about to thank Wade and get out before a brilliant idea hit him. “I had one more thing to ask you… if you’re up for sharing.”

“Shoot,” Wade encouraged, finding a parking spot near the entrance and pulling the car in.

“Uhm… what… what were you gonna do with your week off?”

“You mean our _suspencation_?”

“Yeah.” Peter reached down to unclip his seat belt so that he could better face Wade for this conversation.

Wade pursed his lips and squinted his eyes in thought. “Hmmm, dunno. Haven’t really thought much about it. Don’t really have anything to see or anyone to do. Why, you got something in mind?”

Ignoring one of those statements, Peter shrugged. “Well, I was thinking I might take the opportunity to go visit my aunt. I haven’t really seen her outside of video calls in a few months, and I miss her, ya know?”

Wade hummed and nodded. “Sounds like you’ve already got a plan then, Stan. Need a ride to see her or…?”

“Not quite,” Peter spoke slowly. “She lives in New York...”

“Ah, need a ride to the airport then?” Wade seamlessly revised his offer.

“If you’re… uhm,” Peter bit his lip in hesitation and looked away again. Would it be too bold of him to ask Wade to come with? What if Wade really had nothing to do during their suspension period though? Wouldn’t it be worse to leave him to stew over being punished by himself while Peter went and had a great time off on his own?

“Hey,” one of Wade’s fingers hooked itself underneath his chin and brought his eyes back up to meet Wade’s gaze. “What is it you wanna ask me?”

“If you don’t have any plans, did… did you wanna maybe… go to New York with me?”

“You formally invitin’ me to meet your _fam_ fam?”

“Well, I mean… if you’ve already got plans or something, I don’t want to overstep any boundaries; you don’t owe me anything either! I just, I don’t want you to be all by yourself while I’m out having this grand adventure like it was all pre-planned!”

Wade leaned back and started laughing uncontrollably in his seat. His reaction caused Peter to feel a violent rush of shame color his face and neck. Had he said something funny? He hadn’t thought so.

“I get it. It was a stupid idea, but you don’t have to laugh at me,” Peter chided. He unlocked his passenger door and moved to open it. Just as he gripped the latch, Wade’s laughter cut off and a large hand shot over his lap to stop him from pulling the handle open.

“Don’t,” was breathed out over the skin along the back of his neck. Peter shuddered at all the implications behind that word. _Don’t what_ , he wondered. “I wasn’t laughing at you,” Wade clarified, his hand retracting from where it had looped around Peter’s wrist. “I’d never laugh at you,” he said with even more conviction. “It’s just… it’s _kinda_ funny, I guess?”

“Why is what I said funny?” No longer restrained, Peter rounded on him in confusion. “I don’t… I was just trying to…”

“Shhhh,” Wade hushed him, a very serious look now on his face. “Before you, hell before we started, whatever this _thing_ is between us, it’s been a long time since anyone’s worried about me.”

“Weasel doesn’t count?” Peter suspected he knew the answer to that, but it wasn’t right to assume anything without getting a straight answer directly from Wade.

“Phfft,” came a harsh laugh. “That pompous butt jockey’s only worried about his paycheck and, as long as I don’t get myself fired, we’ll be… sorta friends, I guess, but not besties or anything. Besides, sometimes I think he’s like Al and only tolerates me because I’m too big of an oaf to win a fight against.”

“Well, I mean, I kicked your butt once.” Peter tried to make a joke in spite of the tension that had built up between them. “I didn’t think it was _that_ hard.”

“Oh sweetie, you’re too cute,” Wade cooed, leaning over and nudging Peter gently in the ribs. “But in all seriousness, I don’t think anyone’s been this concerned for me since… well, ‘Lita.”

“Who’s… that?” Peter hesitated but heard himself ask all the same before he could think better of it. The words came out sounding surprised and slightly vindictive but that was because they were genuinely tinged with jealousy. Peter realized too late that he might not want to know anything more about this woman, no matter if she was an important person in Wade’s life, then or now. No sir, that way be dragons. Best to have avoided it altogether, but heaven help Peter, he couldn’t even listen to his own good sense.

“Remember that _anyone to do_ thing you asked about earlier? She’s the closest to what you’d call family that I’ve got left. If I were gonna be visiting anyone, it’d probably be her. But in all actuality, she probably doesn’t wanna see me, so no, I won’t be visiting her. I do think it’s super wholesome that you wanna visit your aunt though. I bet she misses you.”

Peter nodded at that. It was a tiny bit reassuring that Wade had steered the conversation back to what Peter had initially asked about, and he was genuinely grateful that Wade had kept the details about this… mystery woman light and brief. The less he knew, the longer he could play pretend and the truth couldn’t hurt him.

“I… I still have to buy tickets. The sooner, the better, I think.”

Wade remained silent as Peter rubbed at the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of what to say. Why couldn’t this moment be as easy as the kiss in the parking garage had been? Why was Peter so horribly awkward and why did he have to open his big mouth and make things weird between them in the first place?

“Hey.” That same warm hand from earlier came back and curled atop his own. “I’d be honored if you let me travel with you. I mean, honestly, what the hell else was I gonna do in the meantime? Work out at the gym every hour of every day for the entire week? You really think Al woulda let me camp out in her gym for seven days straight?”

They both chuckled at the idea of Al chasing Wade around with her white cane, trying to kick him out of her establishment, but too physically feeble to do much else other than spit and curse. “Yeah, I don’t really think that would have played out well for either of you.”

“Mm-hm,” Wade hummed and chased away Peter’s hand with his fingers. The rough grooves of his fingertips massaged gently at the back of Peter’s neck. It felt nice, soothing in spite of the tumultuous turn of events from the past couple days.

One thing Peter could say about his past relationship with MJ was that he didn’t remember it ever being as difficult to navigate his own feelings… but maybe that was just wishful thinking. He’d have to go back and reflect on that another time though.

“I’ll get two sets of tickets then. Is economy okay?”

There was a loud snort from Wade. “Do I seem like some kind of stuck up snob to you, Petey?”

“Well, no, but.” Peter shook his head slowly, mindful not to shake off Wade’s hold on him. He wanted to savor this connection for as long as he could. “Is there a date you need to be back by?”

“However long you’re planning on staying is fine by me. Just make sure you book our seats next to one another, okay?” Wade ended his request with a little smile.

“Mmkay,” Peter replied and settled back into Wade’s hand. “Text you later with the details?”

“Aaaaaaaallll the deets please. Now then, last question.”

Peter’s breathing slowed, and he sat up straighter in his chair while he waited for Wade to speak. “Sure.”

“Does your aunt know about,” his hand came up and gestured at the whole of his scarred face, “all of this?”

Peter shook his head. “If you mean, does she know who you are and what you do?”

Wade smile straightened out, but he nodded nonetheless.

“No, nothing,” Peter assured. “I’ve been very careful about not telling anyone your name; I don’t even think Gwen knows.”

“I highly doubt that,” Wade’s eyes crinkled as he snickered. “What I mean is, do you think your aunt’s really gonna be okay with a butter face like me showing up and ruining your beautiful little family reunion? I can totally accompany you and just stay outta your way if yo-”

“No!” Peter cut him off. “No, you… you don’t have to do that. I’d actually really love if the two of you could meet. I haven’t told her your name or how we know each other outside of the ring, just that I’ve made a… a friend.” The word tasted slightly strange on his tongue. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t think you should worry because I’m sure she’ll really like you.”

A hefty sigh escaped Wade. He clicked his tongue against his teeth in defeat. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m absolutely 100 percent sure,” Peter reiterated. “She’s a great lady, and I think you two would get along just fine!”

“[ Well, alrighty then,](https://youtu.be/PMHaRDISBOw?t=4)” Wade groaned and sat back in his seat. “No masks and be on my best behavior, got it.”

“Really, Wade,” Peter popped the passenger door open and stepped one foot out. “Thanks for humoring me.”

“Pssh, humor… there wasn’t even a punchline. See ya later, honeybunch. Be sure to text me, okay?” Wade asked before making a kissy face at him. With a slight flush at the affectionate gesture, Peter shut the car door behind him before Wade drove off.

He headed up to his condo feeling more optimistic than he had in a long time. It didn’t take him long to log onto his computer and find a set of moderately priced tickets from Florida to New York. The flights were round-trip with no stops. It was a good selling point to Peter who figured Wade was serious about the no masks comment. They’d both be traveling without their alter egos, instead going as Peter Parker and Wade Wilson.

The thought made him giddy and reminded him of why this was so meaningful. Before that last match had come to its surprise conclusion, Peter had been in danger of becoming recognizable in public. Wade had stopped that from happening. Now it would be Peter’s turn to help conceal Wade’s real identity while they were traveling.

He shut his eyes and thought back on how the previous night had gone.

_The ref, albeit reluctantly, had counted to three and the crowd erupted in a mixed cacophony of sounds. Some fans were screaming at the injustice - Pileta de Muerto was the more seasoned wrestler! Why should he be the one scripted to lose his mask, and Wade played his part beautifully, dragging himself up bonelessly against a rope while shaking his head and clawing at his covered face. He was supposed to appear reluctant to forfeit his mask._

_Pileta continued to react with disbelief to the referee's call as Spider-Man took their theatrics to the next level. Having gotten some time to recover, Peter slid out of the ring and snatched up a microphone off the announcer’s table. He thumbed the switch on and brought the receiver up to his parted lips._

_The audience in the arena took a moment to quiet down, but soon enough, the only sound Peter could hear was the echo of his breathing over the stadium speakers. They’d planned his dialogue before they’d planned their fight sequence. It should have been easy, but Peter was quaking in his wrestling shoes. If they messed this up, they’d both be fired for sure. Their fans had to react favorably to this turn of events, or it was truly game over._

_“Pileta de Muerto,” Spider-Man’s voice cracked over the mic. Always a clown, Wade stopped agonizing against the ropes and stopped to point at the audience, then himself, in confusion. “Yes, you!” Spider-Man reaffirmed. “Tonight you fought with valor and proved to me that you are indeed a worthy opponent.”_

_Peter paused and allowed the audience to react to his scripted words. “But we made a deal before we climbed into this ring.” And suddenly Wade was back to tugging at the hood of his mask as if that would allow him to retain it. Some fans booed at how brazen Spider-Man had suddenly become to pursue the issue._

_“But I’m here now, as the winner, ready to offer you a new deal.”_

_More excited cheering erupted in the stadium. Peter swallowed thickly and licked his lips. So far so good, he just needed to keep this going._

_“If there’s one thing I believe in more than good always overcoming evil, it’s that there is goodness in everyone, even someone like you.”_

_Pileta cocked his head at an odd angle and gestured at the audience for some kind of response. He got a mixed bag of laughter and jeering accompanied with some light booing at Spider-Man’s bold assumption that he would ever want to be a_ good person _in the first place. Pileta de Muerto had always been a heel, ever since his debut. To think that he’d be willing to turn now was… kind of funny actually, but Peter persisted._

_“I really do respect you, and your mask, Pileta, and that’s why I’m going to let you keep it.”_

_The crowd gasped loudly together._

_Not collecting on a bet was unheard of in the wrestling world._

_“I’m going to let you keep it on the condition that you join me, and together we work to right all the wrongs in this establishment. The people,” Peter pause to gesture widely at the audience in the arena all around them, “deserve better… and we’re just the team to give it to them.” He then dropped his arm and let the microphone roll out of his hand. It landed heavily with a finality that got the audience on the edges of their seats if they were not already on their feet._

_On one hand, their innate curiosity was likely holding them back. When someone lost a betting match, there were supposed to be consequences. Loads of folks in the crowd had paid hundreds of dollars to see an unmasked wrestler’s true identity tonight but that was seeming less and less likely now the longer Spider-Man and Pileta continued to drag out the end of their match. On the other hand, however, this was the right amount of high drama the fans had come to expect from Modern Marvels of Wrestling. What would one of their best superstars do if it meant being indebted to another, newer, wrestler? Would they cave and turn if it meant keeping their anonymity or would they remain a true heel, unwilling to submit and sacrifice their mask as expected?_

_Peter stepped up to the ring, his hand outstretched in a mirror of the gesture Wade had begun their match with. Seeing what was going on, Pileta climbed down out of the ring, slowly like a predator on high alert. Each movement was measured and carried with it the heaviness of the choice he was weighing in his mind. Once he got both feet flat on the ground, he stood tall as Spider-Man tentatively approached him._

_Some fans tried to coax him into repeating his previous action - a boot to the hand would easily end this, but Wade surprised them all as he readjusted his gloves and accepted Spider-Man’s hand in a forceful shake. They locked their grip around each other’s wrists, and it was Pileta who bowed his head and thrust Spider-Man’s gloved arm up as the victor._

_More of the audience cheered than booed and that was good enough for both of their expectations._

_Considering all of the other ways their match could have played out, Peter wasn’t surprised that there were some displeased fans in the stands tonight. As long as the majority of the crowd got behind them, Wade had assured him that they would be safe from the big F._

_Ducking out of the arena before the camera crews could corner them, both Wade and Peter booked it back to their respective dressing rooms, being sure to avoid any MMW crew member behind the scenes to bypass any unwanted lengthy explanations. That strategy had seen them holed up in their hotel rooms with text messages from an unknown number telling them to report to the company’s headquarters first thing in the morning for an urgent meeting once their flights back in had landed._

It appeared they were in deep trouble at first, but now that they’d both survived Fury’s fury, there was little left to fear.

Peter had even replayed their match on his cell phone to view the exchange from an outsider’s perspective while waiting for their flight to board. The announcer’s live commentary was easily the highlight of their match, and it was comical how bug-eyed each of the hosts had become when Peter and Wade had shaken hands and dismissed themselves. None of the announcers had wanted to be the first one to formally broadcast the shocking turn of events. One of them even went so far as to frantically mock shuffle and drop all of their desk papers as an excuse to avoid the deed altogether.

It had been incredibly nerve-racking while it was actually happening but now Peter thought he could look back at that moment without regrets. He was proud of what they’d managed to accomplish and how no one had been forced to make sacrifices that they weren’t yet ready for.

And he also thought that maybe Spider-Man could be forgiven this one transgression because he had succeeded in turning a once bad character, good. Wade and he would have plenty of time later to figure out the logistics of how they’d work together in the ring along with their new team name, but for now he was satisfied that they would get to continue on as if the writer’s mask versus mask match had never happened. No one, in the history of MMW’s tenure, had ever gotten a chance to hit the reset button like they did. In the meantime, they would focus on taking advantage of all the new opportunities available to them while they lasted.

Reaching next to his laptop to grab his phone, Peter thumbed in his passcode and tapped the contacts icon. Wade’s number was listed above Aunt May’s because they’d spoken over the phone the day before their match to finalize the last few details of their fight. Normally, Peter would have contacted his aunt after his live event to tell her how it had gone while waiting for his flight back the following day, but the morning had been hectic, and she was always understanding if he happened to be late on a check-in once in a while.

Now it was time to tap the green phone under her name and fill her in on everything that had developed in the last few hours. Maybe she’d already be up to speed on their pay-per-view results. One of the first things Aunt May had told him she’d done, after he’d left, was order a subscription to the wrestling company’s streaming service. _This way I can see you anytime I want_ , she’d explained. Peter smiled fondly and pushed the call button.

The line rang a couple times before his aunt picked up, her cheerful voice wafting over the speaker.

“Oh my goodness, Peter! I was just about to call you! I finished watching your match!”

He laughed lightly at her enthusiasm, flattered she could get so excited about his performance, even if watching professional wrestling had never been a big hobby of hers before. “Hi, Aunt May. I missed you too,” he parroted one of their usual conversation starters.

“Oh, you know I always miss you,” she chided, followed by some rustling in the background. “So how are you, young man? Still beat after such an exciting match? I swear, if I had to watch those kinds of moves live, I might have a heart attack with some of the stunts you pull… how do you even manage to get up on those ropes when you know you could hurt yourself? I’d be scared stiff!”

“There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity,” Peter explained to her.

“Well, good thing we both know you’re smart, so it must be the other one you have plenty of.”

“Haha, sure May.” Peter got up from his desk and wandered over to the veranda of his condo that overlooked downtown proper. “Hey, Aunt May?”

“Yes, Peter?” Her voice sounded relaxed.

“I’ve got something to tell you…” he began.

“Well, I hope it’s something good then!”

He chuckled into the receiver again and started playing with the curtains next to his sliding door. “Well, it’s more like a surprise...”  
  


* * *

  
Two days later, Peter and Wade were stepping out of a grungy looking taxi on the west-side of Queens. Aunt May’s complex still looked much the same as when he’d last seen it, and Peter felt some of that pressure to keep doing well at his job so he could move her out of it sooner. He almost had a decent down payment saved up to secure a small single family home just outside of New York proper, somewhere further east on Long Island. If he could have afforded a mansion for his aunt, he would have.

The taxi driver had gotten out along with the two of them to pop the trunk and failed to feign disinterest in Wade’s appearance. Their entire trip, from start to finish, he’d traveled without his usual mask or gloves on. It was… refreshing but also obvious that Wade was uncomfortable. He’d worn an oversized hoodie, sporting his trademark red and black coloring, with the sleeves covering all but the tips of his fingers and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head. A medical mask covered the bottom half of his face to further obscure his identity. He looked more like a wannabe thug than a professional wrestler at this point, but the aura of intimidation he exuded was enough to detract people from eyeing him too closely for too long.

Wade side-stepped the cabbie and grabbed his and Peter’s travel bags. The combined weight of their luggage was lighter than the weight of another wrestler, so of course it was no hassle for Wade to heft them both out with a single hand. Still, it was pretty funny to see the cab driver’s eyes widen in concern as he’d likely have needed two or more hands to manage moving one bag at a time. Peter pulled out his wallet and pushed a couple wrinkled dollar bills into the driver’s hand as a tip.

“Thanks,” he added, and held out an expectant hand to receive his bag back from Wade. The other man shook his hooded head though, whatever expression he was making hidden behind the thick white material of his face mask. Instead, he turned to head towards the building and started walking up to the apartment complex’s call box.

Peter hustled to join him and gently elbowed his way to the front. “Let me do the honors,” he joked and pushed the pound sign to dial in Aunt May’s apartment number. There was some staticky feedback while her call box connected and then her voice came in crackly over the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Aunt May!”

“Oh, Peter,” she gushed. “Let me buzz you in!”

The apartment’s front door entrance rang loudly in front of them, and Peter waited a half second to grab the handle before swinging the door wide for his guest.

“Ladies first,” he declared with a goofy smile on his face.

“Oh, well, I do declare!” Wade impersonated a fine Scarlett O'Hara and skipped past Peter as best he could with a handful of travel bags. “We taking the elevators or the stairs?” he called out while Peter made sure the door clicked shut behind them.

“Up to you,” was his honest reply. This was supposed to be a vacation of sorts, right? Shouldn’t they enjoy it?

“Mm…” Wade considered. “Elevator. We can always go for a run in that big city park of yours to make up for it, Centro Park or whatever.”

“Central Park,” Peter corrected and made his way over to the elevator to push the call button.

“Whateva,” Wade shrugged. “I’ve never _really_ been to New York, so you’re gonna have to hold my hand during our adventures. I’m not too bright, you know. I may just try to eat poisoned street food or get us lost in a bad part of town.”

“Well,” Peter nudged him affectionately with a shoulder, “we’re already in that _bad_ part of town. But luckily for us, I don’t think people will wanna mess with a muscly lookin’ dude such as yourself.”

“Aw yeah baby, tell me how swol you like ‘em.” Wade flexed with their bags and had Peter laughing all the way up to Aunt May’s floor.

They exited on the tenth floor and it was a short walk down the long hallway until they got to May’s unit marked 1121. Peter rapped his knuckles on the front door and a moment later it opened to a pair of arms reaching out to pull him right in.

“You made it!” came Aunt May’s excited reply. Peter rearranged his aunt in his arms and moved her gently to the side so that Wade could enter into the apartment with him.

“We did.” He chuckled and tried not to feel embarrassed when his aunt stood on her tip-toes to ruffle his hair and place big loving kisses on his cheek. Surely this was normal, right? No need to be embarrassed that his aunt was coddling him in front of his partner… maybe boyfriend. Nope, none at all!

“Aunt May,” Peter wormed his way out of his aunt’s grasp and straightened his windbreaker. “I’d like to introduce you to my friend, this is-”

“Wade.” A voice interrupted him. Wade placed both of their bags down on the floor and thrust a scarred hand out to Peter’s aunt. To her credit, she didn’t shy away from the look of his skin. Even Wade seemed impressed with her demeanor, and once again, Peter patted himself on the back for knowing she’d be a safe bet to bring Wade around. After years of working in the downtown hospital as a CNA, she could stomach just about anything with grace and dignity. Encountering all sorts of patients in med-surg on a regular basis could do that to people if it didn’t traumatize them first.

“Wade,” she tried his name out. Her hand came up to accept his, and they shook hands lightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wade. My nephew told me about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” came the jest a moment later. Wade appeared nervous, cupping his aunt’s fine boned hand in his own delicately. It was the extra care he used with her that made Peter adore him even more.

“Always good things,” May told him, a smile highlighting the fine lines around her mouth. Aunt May wasn’t young, but she was still a beauty and able to charm even the most difficult of patients at the hospital. “Why don’t you take off your mask and shoes, stay awhile?”

They released each other’s hand, and Wade turned to look at Peter for assurance. He’d already toed off his sneakers and was shutting the door when he realized Wade was eyeing him expectantly. _You sure_ , his blue eyes seemed to ask. Should he say okay and throw caution to the wind or was there still time to back out and snag that decently priced motel room they’d both seen back up the street? Peter only nodded in answer and unzipped his track jacket before stepping further into the apartment.

“Are either of you boys thirsty? Let me check the fridge and see what I’ve got in there,” May offered as she walked back towards the kitchen without waiting for a reply. Typical Parker hospitality. Peter paused to motion Wade further into his aunt’s tiny apartment and smiled wider as Wade slid out of his shoes and reached up to slowly lower his hood. The last thing to come off was his medical mask. When that last barrier finally came down, Peter broke out in a wide grin.

He was happy he’d found the courage to invite Wade along. This would be a great trip for the both of them.  
  


* * *

  
“And you’ll never believe what she said to me, Peter,” May flapped the free hand not holding her cheap glass of boxed wine.

“If it was Gloria, I can only imagine,” Peter replied with a mouth half-full of spaghetti. They’d opted for a low prep meal that used available ingredients in the house. Aunt May’s wide variety of canned tomatoes and cabinets full of dollar pasta never disappointed. This food probably wasn’t the best that Wade had ever been served, Peter was sure, but it was made with home cooked loving sentiment. He hoped that would be good enough for Wade. Peter sat up and chewed while eyeing his guest, who had been conspicuously silent for most of the meal.

It was a little odd considering how much of a chatterbox he’d been in the elevator earlier and everywhere else when it was just the two of them, alone. If Wade was going to be staying over for the next couple of nights, he should at least feel comfortable enough to speak freely.

“Oh, but I’m probably boring you both with my tales of the med-surg floor. Tell me, Wade,” May leaned over to sprinkle a little more powdered parmesan on her noodles. “What is it you do at the wrestling company?”

Peter jumped in his chair and whipped a disapproving look at his aunt. He could have sworn he’d told her not to ask any personal questions, but it would appear that boxed wine was a bad influence, even if it was low proof.

“Aunt May,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Well, I figure he must have something to do with your work otherwise the two of you wouldn’t be such good friends,” she reasoned.

“We’re… workout buddies,” Wade quietly supplied as he twirled his fork in the pasta slowly. He wound and wound until there was a big enough bite amassed that he’d be busy chewing for a while.

“Oh? Peter, they have you on a regime there, too?” She turned her attention back to her nephew, and Peter couldn’t have been more relieved.

“Course they do Aunt May. It’s in the contract that we keep in shape and meet weigh-ins regularly.”

“Well,” she clucked her tongue and took another swig from her glass. “I don’t know how I feel about all that… There are so many articles floating around nowadays about body shaming and self-image negativity… I can’t help but worry about it all.”

“It’s fine, really,” Peter tried to assure her. “Do I really look like skin and bones to you?”

“Hm,” May scrunched her eyes in scrutiny. “I suppose not, but you know I’d rather be the one making sure you get fed. Haaah, Florida is just so far away, and my time working at [ NYP](https://www.nyp.org/queens) is nearly up. It’d be such a pain to move everything down there and start all over again. Would they even hire an old nurse’s assistant like me this late in the game?”

“There are plenty of nursing shortages all over the United States,” Wade cut in smoothly. He was nearly done with his helping of food but didn’t bother to look up from his plate while he continued. “I think a hospital would be foolish to turn away anyone willing to dedicate their life to the health and well-being of someone else.”

“My,” May brought her hand up to cover her mouth. “Well, when you put it like that… I wish more people saw the importance of healthcare like you.”

“I’ve had a lot of… _unfortunate_ first-hand experience,” a rueful smile crossed Wade’s scarred face as he spoke.

What exactly was shared with that admission, Peter could only guess. He stuffed more spaghetti into his mouth and chewed quietly as the conversation seemed to die down on its own. Peter was curious, sure, but he’d never want to put Wade on the spot like that and have him open up about anything he wasn’t ready or willing to share.

“Well, Peter’s been pretty lucky,” May chimed back in. “I feel so fortunate every night I load up one of his matches and see he’s still in one piece at the end of it. I don’t know if you wrestle yourself, Wade, but I have to say, it’s a very scary profession for the loved ones of the person doing the actual wrestling.”

Wade shrugged in his seat and set his fork down. “Wouldn’t know anything about it,” he lied through his teeth.

Seeing that nearly all of them were finished with their meal, Peter offered to take their dishes to the sink. “Let me get those for you May,” he said while gathering up everyone’s plates and silverware.

“Thank you, Peter,” she graciously praised him, allowing Peter to take her wine glass with him. As Peter walked into the kitchen, which was only separated from the dining area by an island half wall, he pretended not to overhear his aunt’s next words. She was speaking quietly; he wasn’t supposed to know they were still talking without him.

“I don’t think you’ve been entirely truthful with me, Mister… I don’t believe you’ve told me your full name...”

“Rodriguez,” was the answer Wade gave her without hesitation.

Peter knew he shouldn’t expect Wade to be completely honest with his aunt right off the bat, but it felt weird all the same to hear Wade so closed off and cold when someone else attempted to show him kindness.

“Well, Mr. Rodriguez, how do you _actually_ know my Peter?” May asked once more, her new tone showing she would accept no more nonsense between the two of them. And that was fair, Peter couldn't help but think. She deserved to know a little bit more about the man Peter had invited to stay in her home. Peter just didn’t know if he should be the person to share such private information on Wade’s behalf.

Her reaction garnered a muffled laugh from Wade. “Now I can see where he gets all his tenacity from.” Peter peeked over his left shoulder after he turned the faucet on and caught Wade smiling at his aunt, eyes gleaming across the table. “You’re right, we do work for the same company, but I wasn’t lying when I said I wouldn’t know about my loved ones worrying about my work injuries.”

“Oh? That sounds rather sad…” May interjected. “Surely you have someone out there who cares for you?”

“Hmph, well… before, no, but now… maybe there _is_ someone,” he hinted. Peter immediately turned his head back around but could tell he was being watched by the faint, prickly sensation on the back of his neck. Having gotten some semblance of what she was looking for, May didn’t bother to push Wade further for a more detailed explanation.

“Well, it’s decided then. Any friend of Peter’s, is a friend of mine. Welcome to the Parker household,” she announced loudly before sliding her chair away from the table. “I just hope the two of you can remain good friends for the duration of Peter’s time down in Florida. I’m sure he was terribly lonely before he met you.”

“Aunt May!” Silverware clattered loudly in the sink, and Peter was sure he could be heard scrambling about in the kitchen as he finished rinsing the dishes.

“What?” she laughed as she stood up. “Everyone’s allowed to be sad or homesick when they leave the nest for the first time. You’re not exempt, young man.”

“Augh, mistakes were made,” Peter groaned and added dish soap to the water bath he planned on soaking the dishes in. “I knew you were going to try and embarrass me in front of my friend and yet I came back and allowed it to happen anyway.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started. I have an entire album with baby pictures and awkward teenage moments you don’t even know about. There’s still time to pull it out.”

“May,” Peter warned her in a non-threatening tone.

Their continued bickering eventually managed to pull a real genuine laugh out of Wade that warmed the chilly atmosphere which had persisted throughout most of their dinner, and Peter couldn’t help but smile along with him. It was good to finally see Wade lower another wall during this trip. Peter could only hope that they’d all fall down before their time in New York ended.  
  


* * *

  
On the morning of their final day in New York, Peter woke Wade up a little before 6 a.m.

“Augh, no! Mornings bad...” The blankets shuffled around on the couch until Wade’s bald, scarred head poked out. Even though Peter had offered to let his guest sleep in his old bedroom, Wade had staunchly refused. It wouldn’t have been right, he’d argued, that Peter be put out in his own home. There had been some more talk, after dinner their first night, of him insisting not to impose and find a local motel but somehow Aunt May and Peter had managed to talk him into camping out in their living room for the remainder of his trip.

Peter dared to bet the sleep his guest was getting wasn’t the best and looked only the slightest bit guilty for waking him before the sun had risen. Neither he nor Wade were morning people.

“Hey, c’mon. I need you to get up. There’s still one more cool thing I wanna show you,” he said encouragingly before he plopped down on top of where he thought Wade’s lap might be.

“I’ll get _you_ up,” Wade warned and bucked underneath Peter’s weight. What ensued next was the world’s quietest wrestling match on the sofa. They both tried to muffle their laughter in the living room because Aunt May was still asleep. “Seriously though,” Wade groaned after they stilled. “What in the hell could be so important you need to wake me up before the sun’s even up?”

“Just get your shoes on,” Peter told him as he got up and went into the kitchen to retrieve something.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade groused and sat up on the couch. Peter supposed that one blessing of baldness was that Wade would never suffer from crazy bedhead. He’d fought with his cowlicked hair in the mirror for a couple minutes before he’d finally caved and soaked his entire head to tame it. Now though, he needed to make sure his MetroCard had funds on it if they were going to go anywhere.

By the time he was done adding value to the card on his mobile app, Wade was slipping into his shoes. They’d both opted to pack their most casual looking clothes. No need to accidentally tip off a random fan that they weren’t just normal people by wandering around in recognizable Spider-Man or Pileta de Muerto gear. New York was much colder than Miami now that it was September, and Wade had chosen to wear a dark long sleeve shirt, made out of thermal material, and a pair of loose grey sweats. He finished the look with his usual red zip-up hoodie. Peter, on the other hand, had gone with fitted black track pants and a white t-shirt under a navy sweater, topped off with a green puffy thermal vest.

“This gonna be warm enough? I assume we’re going outside,” Wade asked him as he double knotted his shoe laces.

“Y-yeah,” Peter stuttered. “Do you uh, need a hat?”

“You trying to tell me something?” came a tart reply with a raised brow.

“N-no! Just, it might be cold when we go out, and I’m going to wear one so…”

Wade stilled to think about it for a second and then nodded as he stood up from trying his shoes. An expectant hand came out. “Well, give‘er ‘ere then.”

Peter rushed over to his bedroom and quietly opened the door to fish out a dark blue beanie and a grey skull cap with a visor stitched in. Wade could choose either; Peter wouldn’t mind.

Returning back to the kitchen, he held both choices out. “Take whichever you like.”

He wasn’t surprised in the least when Wade snatched up the skullcap with the visor. He might have been fine showing his face around both Peter and Aunt May now, but outside was a whole different matter. Wade made sure to draw his hood up over his borrowed hat, but skipped adding a face mask, before they stepped out in the cool autumn air and made their way towards a nearby bus stop.

From there, they rode in relative silence as Peter directed them to exit at a stop and switch to the subway. They switched trains once before Wade figured out where they were headed. All in all, it took about an hour to get to Central Park.

“You were really serious, huh,” Wade said somewhat awed as they exited 5th Avenue Station and approached the southeast entrance of the city park.

“Well, you did mention going for a run, didn’t you?” Peter nudged Wade in the ribs playfully as they walked into the park. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Augh,” Wade groaned and trailed after Peter who’d started to speed up his walk into a gradual jog. “You need to learn how to read nuance, chiquito. A vacation isn’t a vacation if you’re not relaxing.”

Picking up his pace once he hit a trail, Peter spun around and began running backwards to face Wade. “What if working out _is_ relaxing?”

“I need to introduce you to new hobbies,” Wade sassed as he widened his strides to catch up.

Thirty minutes later, they were both sprawled over an empty park bench, panting into the chilly morning air.

“One thing I will say New York has going for it…” Wade mused aloud, “there’s no damn humidity. Feels nice to be surrounded by real, breathing trees.” Peter hummed in agreement at Wade’s observation.

“I rarely ever used to come here, but I know what you mean. Running outside of an air conditioned gym in Miami is a death wish.”

Wade shut his eyes and nodded. “We gonna sprint again or…?”

Peter shook his head. “No, not unless you want to. I just thought you might like a little pre-morning workout to earn a hot coffee for our ride back to Queens.”

“Anything special you got planned for today?” 

Peter had made sure to give Wade a bit of the royal treatment during his time in New York. After they’d finished dinner the first night, Peter had taken Wade for a walk by his old wrestling academy. It had been nice to see that a lot of things stayed the same even when he wasn’t around. He would have offered to take Wade in for a more personal tour, but the last thing they needed was someone recognizing Wade without his mask on.

The next day was spent wandering around Manhattan, and of course, Peter had made sure they visited Flushing Meadows Park. Wade had really liked that being a fan of Men in Black, and the authentic Chinese cuisine later on in Flushing proper had rounded out their afternoon. Peter only had this morning planned and was pretty open to whatever suggestions his guest had for today.

Wade swiped at his face with a scarred hand and hunched over to hide his appearance as another early morning jogger ran past them. The girl didn’t even seem to notice they existed outside of her headphones and paid them no mind.

“You really shouldn’t worry,” Peter tried to assure him. “New York’s a _real_ city. People here don’t care about anyone or anything who isn’t themselves. No one’s gonna look at you weird just because…” He thought better than to finish that sentence.

“Your sentiment is super sweet, Petey, but I gotta tell you, this ugly mug isn’t your average kinda freak. I’ve made people physically ill with my face before. Do you know how easy it is for me to get that kind of candid reaction from someone? Happens all the fuckin’ time in M’ami, and I’m sick to death of it.”

“Wade,” Peter sighed and sat up till he was resting on the edge of the bench. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I!” Wade dropped his hand and directed an angry look straight at Peter. “Even Weas, who you seem to think is my bestie, gets nauseous watching me eat.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair at all. I feel moderately ill whenever I see him, too, so...”

“Hah, you’re funny, honey. But no, it’s not the same,” Wade reasoned. “I know what I look like. A year and a half of being unable to hold a steady job are proof of that.”

“What did you do before you started wrestling?” Peter asked, genuinely curious but also trying to reign it in. Wade had yet to really open up about his past, and Peter only knew as much about it as he could gather off of fan websites before he’d been recruited by Modern Marvels.

The only information anyone really knew about Pileta de Muerto was that he was an older wrestler who was relatively new to the profession. Most folks who wrestled typically came from a wrestling family or had started getting into the sport when they were young, like Peter. Wade on the other hand… Pileta de Muerto had popped up out of nowhere and had taken the wrestling world by storm when he debuted three years ago. Now though, Peter had an opportunity to learn more about his past directly from the source. It was hard _not_ to be nosey.

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to… this should be a 100% voluntary thing,” he echoed Wade’s own words from once upon a time.

“Phfft, what _didn’t_ I do after I got my Freddy Krueger on?”

“Wade,” Peter warned him in that same tone of voice he’d used on Aunt May the first night they’d arrived in New York. “I’m serious.”

“Me too! Totes serious,” Wade huffed and readjusted himself so that his elbows were resting on his knees. “I wasn’t always like this, ya know? I wasn’t Hollywood handsome, but I definitely wasn’t what you’d call hard to look at either.” 

He turned his head just slightly to catch a brief glimpse of Peter staring at him earnestly. “You really wanna know, dontcha?”

Peter nodded.

“It’s really not that interesting,” Wade tried to dissuade him. “Just your average run of the mill story about a stupid kid who graduated high school, thought he was smart enough to go to college but couldn’t cut the mustard, so he joined the military until it blew him up. Literally. You know, a typical telenovela drama.”

“You were in the military?”

A red sleeved arm popped up and flexed an impressive bicep next to Peter. Wade’s dedication to fitness now seemed less like a personal passion and more like a habit borne from his previous tenure of service. “You think these muscles came outta nowhere? Yeah, I train now, but I was way fitter when I was active duty.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Peter said while taking in the new information. “Probably wasn’t hard to transition into wrestling from there then, right?”

“Well,” Wade drawled out the word. “It was, and it wasn’t. I didn’t just immediately try to become a wrestler when I was let go from the military. I tried other avenues before that… I had…” And that was where Wade clammed up a little bit. He bit his lip and sighed heavily before continuing on. “I had a family once, Pete.”

Something painful and tight wound around Peter’s heart; all he could hear in the back of his mind was a woman calling out Wade’s name.

“Carmelita, right?”

“Oh?” Wade perked up at Peter saying her name. “You remembered that, huh?”

 _How could I ever forget_ , Peter wondered as he waited for Wade to go on.

“Yeah, ‘Lita… she was something else,” Wade said the words like he was remembering something painful. “We met a looooooong time ago, her and I. Tried to make that shitty relationship work, but it all just fell apart in the end. I wasn’t man enough to break it off with her, so I ran off to good ol’ Uncle Sam to make him do it for me! She wasn’t too happy about that, if ya hadn’t guessed.”

Peter leaned over to place a supportive hand on Wade’s shoulder.

“Well, old!Wade thought it was a bright idea. Anyway, fast forward a year or two later, and we meet up again while I’m on leave. She says she’s forgiven me; we were both dumb when we were young, we’ll let bygones be bygones and why not celebrate this new start of our friendship with a couple of drinks? Definitely got a teeny bit more wasted than planned and ruh-roh Scoobs, wouldn’t ya’ know it, ‘Lita blows up my phone a couple weeks later telling me all her pregnancy tests are coming up positive.”

The thought of Wade having a family out there somewhere did terrible things to Peter. It was getting harder to breathe, but he was still adamant to see this story through. Wade was here with him now, not with the other people he was talking about. That had to mean something, right? Peter kept telling himself that as Wade went on.

“So now I have a kid coming, with a woman I don’t even care about anymore. Damn, we were both so stupid… but I knew she was gonna keep the baby, so I had to figure out how to get my life together. I didn’t want to be a deadbeat dad like my deadbeat dad.” Wade sighed again, louder this time. “This isn’t boring you yet?”

Peter shook his head. Part of him needed to know how this all ended and how Wade had come to be with him instead.

“If you’re sure…” he hesitated before continuing. “Well, I tried to do the _Spider-Man thing._ I did my best to be a better man. Stopped fooling around, and got real serious. Made higher ranks faster than you can say [ floccinaucinihilipilification](https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/50611/longest-word-in-the-world). Got promoted to the special ops. Was really trying to make something out of myself with a baby on the way. Even if ‘Lita and I never managed to _be_ together, I still wanted to make sure my little one was taken care of, ya know?”

Peter nodded along, still stuck on the fact that out there, somewhere, existed a tinier version of Wade.

“Well, Ellie came along and things were going well, but then… let’s just say something bad happened. I won the fight, but I didn’t win the war. Got medically discharged and ended up back stateside trying to make it work with my baby and baby mama. Military tried to help, got me gigs working odd jobs, but it’s pretty hard to get a decent wage when your only credentials are your service to the U.S. and a high school diploma.

“I worked all over the place… tried jobs face-to-face with customers - bet you can figure out how those ended. Even when I tried working in the back… this one doesn’t play well with others,” he thumbed at himself. “Got myself fired from each and every job the military helped me get. Only thing I was good for was working out and beating people up. You see where this is going?”

“I do,” Peter told him, “but why wrestling?”

“Why not!?” Wade brought his hand up to start ticking off a list of reasons. “For one thing, I get to wear a mask and a costume that hide the hideous mess that kept getting me in trouble at work in the first place. Secondly, I get to beat people up for fun, but most importantly, for money! Third, working out is a habit I’m going to have for the rest of my life… why not use that to my advantage?”

“Those are all… pretty good reasons,” Peter agreed.

“Remember when you told me you put on that mask every time you climbed into the ring so that you could be a better person? That’s who Pileta de Muerto is to me; a better version of me who’s not an unlucky fuck-up that’s ugly as sin. Everyone looks at him and sees success; they see talent. They don’t see Wade Wilson, the guy who couldn’t even keep a freight loading job to pay for his baby girl’s diapers.”

Another jogger ran past, seemingly unaware of the significance of their conversation. Neither man moved off the bench as Peter took a second to process Wade’s last confession.

“So you left them then?” 

“I did. I’m a coward through and through. ‘Lita didn’t need to be caring for two babies back then. At least this way, doing what I do now, I can cut her a check for child support and then some so that my little girl can grow up never wanting for anything.”

“I get it now,” Peter slouched back onto the hardwood bench. “That’s why you were so understanding of my mask hang-up… but I just don’t understand why you’d gamble being able to take care of your daughter by risking it all for me?”

“Well, Peter,” Wade’s hand came up and cupped Peter’s cheek. “Some things are worth it. I never see her, but I love Ellie. I’d do just about anything for her… and the more I get to know you, the more I’m thinking I’d be willing to do just about anything for you, too.”

Peter’s face suddenly felt hot in the morning light that reflected through the leaves of the Central Park trees.

“Now then, enough story time. Where’s that hot coffee you promised me?”

Swallowing thickly while still being held by Wade, Peter reached up to wrap his hand around Wade’s wrist. “Thank you for telling me all of that.”

“Phfft, thanks for not getting bored by my [ La Rose de Guadalupe](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_rosa_de_Guadalupe)-esque sob story!"  
  


* * *

  
Later that evening found them lazing on the living room couch counting down the remaining hours before they had to catch their red eye back to Florida. Peter had booked their tickets as economically as possible, and since there was usually a layover somewhere in between their departure and their arrival, it made more sense to pay less for a non-stop… but aforementioned non-stops only tended to be in the mornings and the evenings… at awful times.

The scheduling happened to work out well for them though. May had left for an overnight shift an hour before and promised to be back in time to cart them to the airport before their flight. Both Peter and Wade had assured her they could front the cost of a taxi, but she had insisted. _Who knows how long it’ll be before I can see my Peter again_ , she fussed. It was the least she could do, she’d said.

“Your aunt’s really something, Pete,” Wade said aloud to the puddle of Peter lounging in his lap. Once Aunt May had left for work after dinner, Peter had become increasingly clingy. Maybe the way he was feeling had to do with the information Wade had given him earlier or maybe it had to do with the reminder that after tomorrow morning, Peter might not see his aunt again for a long time. He really did miss her, but he also needed to focus seriously on his work. Their future financial situations depended heavily on his success.

Their old apartment, much like everything else during this trip, looked much the same as it had months ago when he’d first left but that was also part of the problem. It might just have been his imagination, but the cracks in the corners of the rooms and the chips in the paint seemed more exaggerated now. Aunt May shouldn’t have to live in such squalor when he knew he could provide so much better for her. She definitely deserved better.

“You okay?” A gentle hand came down and threaded through his hair. Peter hummed and stretched up into the attention. He could stand a distraction right about now.

“Yeah,” he murmured in a slight daze. They’d had a pretty lazy afternoon, so it was hard for him to reconcile why he felt so worn out. Their morning run in Central Park had turned into an impromptu Olympic sprint to the nearest coffee shop. From there, they engaged in a small scuffle over who got to pay for their crummy, over-priced New York coffee. The rest of their afternoon had been relatively tame. Once they’d finally made their way back to Queens, Wade had asked Peter to take him on side-trip to the grocery store so he could pick up supplies for dinner. He’d insisted he be allowed to cook something special for their gracious host on his final night couch surfing in her home.

The meal Wade had prepared was amazing, better even than some of the local Mexican cuisine Peter had gotten before in this area. It’d only been tacos, but they were the best tacos he’d ever had. Even May was stunned by Wade’s cooking prowess as it had put her own to shame. Though Aunt May was not the best cook, there was still something about her food that warmed a place inside Peter and made him feel loved. Perhaps that’s why he was feeling so run down… he wasn’t quite ready to let go of that just yet.

“You seem like you’re stuck on something,” Wade interrupted his thoughts. “You’re sure okay?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Really?”

“[Really, really](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqoJK3Epb30).”

“All right, Shrek,” Wade sat back and gently tugged Peter up by the roots of his hair. It wasn’t painful, but it sent a shiver down Peter’s spine nonetheless. “I know you’re mopey ‘cuz you’re sad you’re gonna be leaving your aunt, out with it.”

“No,” Peter groaned, “don’t psychoanalyze me, please. I just… wanted today to be your best night here and all it’s been is me dragging the mood down ever since she left for work.” As soon as Wade released him, Peter sat up straighter on the couch and ran his own hand over his face. “I’m sorry I’m being such a downer,” he apologized. “That definitely wasn’t my intent.”

“No, no,” Wade cooed at him and slung an arm over his shoulders. “I’m not trying to call you out on it. I think it’s perfectly normal for someone to feel sad if they can’t be near someone they share a close connection with. I’d be sad too if someone treated me even half as nice as your aunt does you!” Wade’s thumb started absently rubbing Peter’s bicep, gently tracing a line along his developing deltoid. “Honestly, I think I’da been kinda sad myself if you hadn’t bothered to invite me along. I really might’ve tried to distract myself, working out to death, at Al’s. Probably woulda gotten myself a lifetime ban and _then_ where would we practice?”

Peter snickered and lounged back into Wade’s hold. “Yeah, real tragedy… getting banned I mean.” They both got a few more laughs in discussing their image of a furious Al chasing Wade out of her gym, even if she was more likely to cave and allow them back than to keep up the false pretense of banning them forever.

“Do ya mean it?” Peter finally asked after they’d both settled down.

Turning to face him with a look of sincerity, Wade nodded. “Course I do. I’m always serious when it comes to you.”

Peter nodded and leaned forward to plant a tentative kiss on Wade’s mouth. This was the boldest he’d ever felt about public displays of affection in his childhood home. Even when he’d been dating MJ, he’d made sure she followed his one foot of personal space rule when in Aunt May’s presence. Hand-holding, kissing, or otherwise were not permitted as long as they were under his aunt’s roof. Those rules had initially perturbed his then girlfriend, but she respected May enough to promise she’d at least try to follow them… and when they couldn’t, she’d drag him back to her parent’s house and then… Peter groaned at the memory.

Wade kissed him harder, the hand on Peter’s arm transitioning to the back of his neck and reeling him in greedily for more. They continued on like that for a few minutes, mouths open and tentatively exploring. Their kisses grew heated enough that Peter didn’t even remember climbing into Wade’s lap until he was forcibly being pushed back.

“Hey, Petey,” Wade mouthed hotly against the side of his face. “As much as I love you [ feelin’ on me, yeah, feelin’ on me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wD32N8h8Jlw&feature=youtu.be&t=17), I really don’t think this is a good idea. Ya know, on your aunt’s couch. She relaxes here after work, entertains guests here… hell, even allows bums like me to sleep on it instead of forcing them out into a dingy motel… and I know she said she’d be back later, like _tomorrow morning_ later, but you never know. The last thing I wanna do is piss your really amazing aunt off ‘cuz she thinks I corrupted you or something.”

“Or something,” Peter hazily whispered as he clambered off of Wade. His legs felt weak under his weight, and he swayed so unsteadily that one of Wade’s large hands came up to catch him by the waist.

“You should go to bed,” was the suggestion Wade gave him. Sleep, however, was the last thing on Peter’s mind.

“Come with me?”

“Like… to tuck you in?” Wade chuckled out loud as Peter nodded slowly. “Yeah, all right. I guess I can be the Daddy if we’re gonna play house.” Something about that word did things to Peter, and he bit his lip in heady anticipation.

Wade pushed him in the direction of his aunt’s single bathroom and told him to go get cleaned up. He still needed to finish making up his own bed on the couch and then promised he’d check in on Peter before taking a shower himself. Peter complied willingly with his instructions and made sure to brush his teeth and wash his face thoroughly. He was just stepping into a clean pair of boxer briefs in his bedroom when a quiet knock came from the door.

“Yeah?” he called out, turning around as he secured the waistband up over his hips.

The door creaked open and then promptly shut again. A muffled apology came from the other side. “Didn’t know you weren’t decent yet.”

Peter took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He could do this; he wasn’t some little kid anymore. He walked the distance from his bed to the door and reached out to turn the handle. Wade was standing in the hall, next to the doorway, and immediately averted his gaze the second he caught sight of a half naked Peter.

“C’mon now,” Peter snickered as he swung the door open wider. “You’ve seen me dressed like this before at Al’s when we finish practicing… it shouldn’t be anything new.”

But it was somehow, and it was fascinating the way Wade’s cheeks flushed when Peter said that. He wasn’t lying. Peter’s wrestling attire left little to the imagination but, then again, so did all of their coworkers’ costumes; Wade’s included. Underneath all of that lycra and polyester fabric, everyone could see how well sculpted their bodies were. That’s why working out wasn’t an optional thing at their company. Looks were just as important as skill.

“That… that was different,” Wade tried to argue. “I’ll just… I'll wait out here till you put a shirt on or get in bed.”

Peter had to actually grab him to make Wade come into the room. Even if Wade’s words meant one thing, it didn’t take much physical effort to pull the larger man up against his trimmer body.

Wade would always be bigger than him, both in height and muscle mass, and Peter was okay with that. He brought his own hands up to run appreciatively over Wade’s arms and down to rest on his chest. Peter could feel the rise and fall of his ribcage, hear the echo of his breath, and nearly taste the press of Wade’s lips he so wanted to experience again. He’d voluntarily made the decision to drag Wade into his bedroom.

It was time to move past denying himself any longer.

“You were right, earlier. I’m not alright,” Peter confessed. He reached one hand up to cradle Wade’s face and pull him in for another kiss. The exchange was brief with a hint of a promise. “I don’t want to be alone tonight…” Peter whispered it into Wade’s lips like a prayer, something only Wade could grant him.

“Alright,” Wade agreed, allowing Peter to tug him back towards the small mattress in the corner of his modestly sized bedroom. “Alright,” he repeated as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Peter down onto his lap, facing towards him to wrap Peter up in clothed arms.

Wade still hadn’t changed out of his sweats from earlier in the morning, a sure sign he hadn’t finished getting ready for bed yet, but none of that mattered to Peter right now. They’d both smelled worse around each other after an intense training session at Al’s. A little light sweat wasn’t even a deterrent to keep Peter from burying his face in the collar of Wade’s long sleeve shirt. Wade smelled warm and comforting… like coming home to something long missed. Peter hadn’t felt this secure in a long time.

Sitting back slightly, he looked up into Wade’s eyes. They were darkened in the faint light of Peter’s bedroom like unrefined sapphires glinting in a cave. He wound both arms around Wade’s neck and tugged him back down for another kiss. This time, Wade didn’t resist. In fact, his own hands switched from holding Peter to caressing his shirtless chest. Wade’s scarred skin offered an exquisite texture experience for Peter, causing goosebumps to bubble up along all the trails they left behind.

It was like being tickled without the need to laugh. Peter writhed and shook under Wade’s touch but only soft moans escaped his lips. No sound ever got the chance to grow louder as Wade hungrily swallowed them all, his tongue working hard to trace along the insides of Peter’s mouth. 

When Wade’s thumbs roved over his nipples, fingernails scraping and teasing over his sensitive skin. Peter rolled his hips down hard on Wade’s lap and was greeted with a pleasant surprise. He had felt himself harden from their increased amount of foreplay minutes before, but this was the first time he’d ever been made physically aware of Wade’s desire. It was intoxicating. He experimentally rolled his hips again, feeling the heated press of Wade’s erection through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs.

Peter wanted more.

Using one hand to hang onto Wade as they slowly formed a rhythm, Peter brought the other down to tug at the hem of Wade’s shirt. His movements were immediately halted as Wade jumped and snatched his wrist before he could even begin lifting the edge of his clothing.

“This isn’t about me tonight,” Wade whispered through clenched teeth, the muscles in his arm tensed as he struggled to refrain from hurting Peter with his grip. He let go the second Peter got the hint and released his shirt. Before Peter could apologize, Wade was switching their position. He pitched himself backward and readjusted Peter to straddle him, both knees tucked alongside Wade’s waist. The small twin-sized bed that Peter had chosen to christen their activities with protested under their combined weight but held.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Wade asked him. One of his hands was now supporting Peter’s hip and the other was lightly palming Peter through his underwear. A small wet spot had formed at the tip of the outline of his cock. All the physical signs pointed to _yes,_ but Wade still needed verbal confirmation.

“Yes,” Peter breathed out, gently rocking his hips back up into Wade’s warm hand. He bit his lip to keep from prematurely coming at the wonderful friction this new position was giving him. It was fine if Wade wasn’t willing to remove his clothes or let Peter touch him directly just yet. He could still make this good for both of them. Peter slid his rear further back on his second thrust and made sure to put a little more weight into his movement so that Wade could feel just how eager he really was.

“Don’t you want to?”

Wade groaned at that, removing his hand from stroking Peter to grip both of his hips properly and help guide him into a new rhythm where Wade thrust up as Peter ground down. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” he wheezed as his breath caught between Peter’s movements.

“Then don’t stop,” Peter gasped, watching as Wade brought a hand back up to tug at the waistband of his boxer briefs and yanked it down to free his leaking cock. It sprung free from its restraint but was immediately trapped again within Wade’s rough hand.

“Okay, yeah,” Wade mumbled as his fist set a quick pace for Peter to fuck up into. “We’re def doing this now. [ Can’t stop, won’t stop](https://youtu.be/xkU9oVGr1KE?t=13).”

The sudden onslaught of sensation had Peter choking on nothing, doing everything he could to hold back from coming right then and there. This feeling was so similar and yet so different from everything he’d ever experienced with MJ. His body knew a different sort of dance with her, but oh was it ready to learn something new with his current partner.

The pleasure deepened and intensified, more heightened than anything he’d ever felt before. A second later and he was shuddering on top of Wade, coming messily all over Wade’s hand and stomach. Peter didn’t even have the decency to feel bad as his eyes screwed shut and he sobbed through his orgasm.

“Fuuuuuuck…” Wade cursed out as his hips came to a slow stop underneath Peter’s ass. They melted together in the afterglow, Peter falling forward and panting heavily against the quick rise and fall of Wade’s chest as they worked to get their breathing back under control. He felt like he’d just sprinted a marathon and all they’d done was fool around. It was kind of funny, Peter reflected, how really amazing sex could do this to a person… to them, two star athletes who could train for hours in the gym and throw grown adults around in a ring for sport.

A gentle kiss was pressed to the top of his forehead before Wade propped him up again. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

True to his word, Wade left to get a wet hand towel from the bathroom and wiped Peter down before readjusting his underwear. Thankfully, the thin fabric had been spared most of his… mess. Wade on the other hand… he had some distinct wet spots now where there hadn’t been any before.

“You uh… you need me to…?”

Wade leaned back and shook his head. “Nah, sugar. I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick and then head to bed.”

“You’re not going to come back?” Peter asked, voice sounding pitiful as Wade helped slide him under the covers.

“You really want me to?”

“Course I do,” Peter echoed Wade’s words from earlier. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it.”

“Just checkin’.” Wade leaned down and laid the flat sheet over Peter’s chest. “Give me five minutes, sweetness. I’ll be back.”

A few minutes passed and, as promised, Wade returned. He’d finally changed out of his sweats but, in their place, he came into the bedroom wearing a thin long sleeve top and shorts. Peter scooted over and pressed himself into the wall to make room for Wade, who looked rather skeptically at the size of the bed.

“We… we’ll make it work,” Peter said through a tired lopsided smile. He knew his request wasn’t practical, but he appreciated being humored anyway. “Get in.” He lifted the sheet up for Wade to squeeze in next to him. It took a little bit of rearranging for them to finally fit on the bed semi-comfortably. Even then, the bottom of Wade’s toes dangled off the edge as Peter curled up in front of him.

Once they finally settled, Peter traced the tips of his toes along the tops of Wade’s shins. He still wanted to know why Wade didn’t happen to have scarring below the waist but was just the teeniest bit afraid to ask. It wasn’t worth risking this moment though, Peter told himself. So instead, he fixated on another question that had occurred to him the moment Wade grabbed his wrist earlier.

“When are you finally gonna feel comfortable around me?”

“Hm?” Wade hummed as he shifted his left arm under Peter’s weight. The spooning position they’d finally settled on didn’t seem to perturb him otherwise.

“You know,” Peter whispered, fingertips resting on Wade’s forearm holding him close, slowly starting up a pattern of circles as they traced over the raised skin beneath the thin material of Wade’s shirt.

A low rumble reverberated through Wade, and Peter could feel his apprehension as he struggled with choosing an appropriate answer to Peter’s question. The silence continued to drag until eventually Wade said, “Soon.”

“And you’re…” Peter bit back the rest of that last question. Was this even what _he_ wanted? How could he so boldly demand a response from Wade when he wasn’t even sure himself?

Receptive as always, Wade beat him to punch. “Am I sure this what I want?”

Peter nodded slowly, wild hair brushing softly against the fabric of Wade’s top.

“Yeah,” Wade replied, no hesitance to be found in his words.

“What about your daughter, Wade? You… you have a family...” And maybe that, too, had been bearing down on Peter since the morning. “You… you might miss out on being a part of their lives if you wanna keep doing this… this _thing_ with me.”

It seemed logical to Peter that there could only be enough love in one person’s heart to give to a limited number of people, and Peter was too selfish emotionally to handle being second best. It almost made the experience they’d just shared together moments before feel cheap.

Now that Wade had told him about other people he could be living his life with… _for,_ besides Peter, everything about their time together began to feel increasingly fragile. Transitory even if all Wade had to do was makeup and play nice with his ex-wife to have a shot back at the life he used to lead. There was no way Peter could compete with that. He couldn’t offer Wade a family or kids… he had nothing else to offer beyond himself.

Wade chuckled quietly in the dark as though he could hear Peter’s thoughts. “Ah, you’re still hung up on that, too, huh?”

Peter brought Wade’s right arm up and pressed his face into it, inhaling deeply. He wanted to remember this moment before Wade inevitably told him that whatever it was he was expecting would never be a serious relationship. Feeling Wade take in another deep breath before he continued, Peter held his breath as he waited apprehensively for the worst.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Wade exhaled. “I did have a family... once, and it’s true that I do have a daughter, still. But I can’t change who I was before you met me, and I’m sorry if it bothers you knowing about my past, but I don’t regret telling you it. I just… I dunno what I can say or do that would make this better...”

It was a kind sentiment, one that brought a bittersweet smile to Peter’s face. Reading too much into the meaning behind those words was dangerous, so Peter didn’t allow himself to dwell on it.

“But, honestly?” Wade continued as he shifted them again until Peter was facing him. His free hand tipped Peter’s face up to look him in the eye. “Even if my past hurts you, I wouldn’t change any of that. Because if it hadn’t all happened this way, I never would have gotten the chance to meet you.”

Wade’s words were a benediction, and Peter tried his hardest not to cry when Wade leaned down once more to kiss him goodnight.  
  


* * *

  
The morning came too soon, and Peter was only half awake as he stumbled around his aunt’s house trying to frantically pack the remainder of his belongings he’d overlooked the night before when he and Wade had… his ears felt warm just thinking about it. He couldn’t believe he’d done that. Something crazy must have come over him, and he really needed to throw these sheets in the wash lest his aunt discover anything more _personal_ about his… personal life.

Wade hadn’t been in bed with him when he was awoken by his alarm a quarter before five. When he finally managed to crawl out of his room, haphazardly dressed, May hadn’t acted out of the ordinary when he greeted her in the kitchen over her cup of coffee. She gave him a big hug and a kiss on the side of his face, the opposite side he’d pressed into Wade’s warm body the previous night.

“Oh, don’t worry about those sheets, Peter. I can handle that after you’ve left,” she told him in between sips. Under normal circumstances, Peter would have been inclined to let her do as she pleased, but not today. He shook his head and made an excuse about not wanting to be a burden before making his way over to the tiny stacked washer and dryer unit they kept hidden in a utility closet next to the kitchen.

Wade was oddly quiet as he cooked eggs and popped bread into the toaster. He’d obviously been up long enough before Peter since his own luggage was packed and propped by the front door, ready to go. A hot cup of coffee with cream and sugar was placed in Peter’s hand before Wade steered him away from the washer and back towards the kitchen table.

“Make sure you eat,” he coaxed. “It’s not a long flight, but dammit it’s early and airport food sucks.”

“He’s right,” May added, finishing her own cup. “What time was your flight again?”

Grabbing a fork, Peter hastily began to shovel bites of egg into his mouth. “I think at 6:30?”

May looked down at her watch and readjusted the face so she could make out the numbers clearly. “Hmmm… as much as I want you to take your time and not worry, don’t take _too_ long. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before we need to leave if you want to make it on time.”

From there, the trip down the elevator to the car was a blur, and the next thing Peter could remember was being shoved into the front passenger seat across from his aunt. There was a weird sense of deja vu that flooded him as he watched her merge onto the highway and take him the same route she’d initially driven him down months before. But things were different now, he was different now.

Chancing a glance in his aunt’s rearview mirror, he caught sight of Wade staring listlessly out of his passenger window. New York had plenty of urban beauty to spare if you knew where to look, and Peter briefly wondered again if Wade meant what he’d said the night before… if he really meant it then, well… Peter would wait to be sure before he told his aunt any specific details.

When they pulled up into the departures lane, all of the guilt of leaving his aunt that he’d been trying to stave off since yesterday evening came rushing right back. Peter hugged her like he’d never see her again, and it was just as hard to say goodbye the second time as it was the first. Peter was grateful when Wade stepped in to ask his aunt for a hug, so he could thank her for her hospitality. If not for that, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever have been able to let her go.

“You promise to look after my Peter, all right?” she very nearly demanded after Wade set her down from where he’d picked her up in a giant bear hug.

“Absolutely,” he grinned. “Y’all are stuck with me now.”

Once all of their belongings were out of the trunk, there was nothing left to do but say goodbye. The only difference between this time and the first time was that Peter didn’t allow himself to look away when Aunt May drove off. He told her he loved her and watched as her car merged back into the exiting traffic from LaGuardia. Peter continued to wave until he couldn’t see her anymore, until Wade grabbed his hand and gently led him away from the drop-off to the sky cab to check in their travel bags. They’d only brought carry-ons, but it was easier to have one less thing for them to worry about.

After they got their boarding passes printed and had their ID’s checked by security, they found their gate and sat down to wait.

Wade offered to get Peter another coffee to help cheer him up, but Peter’s stomach wasn’t in the mood to handle anything at that moment. Rationally, he knew this goodbye wasn’t forever. Heck, only four months had passed, and he’d already gotten to come back to New York to see his aunt. What were another few months between now and then? And maybe next time, he could take her house shopping. There were plenty of positive things to look forward to in the future, he just needed to keep his focus on what lay ahead and all of what was waiting for him back in Miami.

Ringing sounded from his jacket pocket, and Peter nearly dropped his phone trying to fish it out to catch the call before it went to voicemail. Gwen’s name flashed across the screen. It felt weird to see her calling after so many days of no contact. Of course none of that had been on purpose, he’d just been busy... with Wade.

Peter thumbed the green phone and put the receiver up to his ear.

“PEEEEEEEETTTTERRRRRR!!!” her voice carried over the speaker and caused his hair to stand on end.

“G-gwen!” He made sure to keep the phone at a safe distance before attempting to speak again. “What’s… what’s up? I’m not back yet, I-”

“OH EM GEE! You are not gonna believe what I just heard today!”

“I… I’m sure I won’t,” he laughed quietly at her enthusiasm. Wade just peered over his shoulder and raised a questioning brow. He’d thrown his sweatshirt’s hood up the second he sat down in the backseat of Aunt May’s car. At least he’d abstained from putting on his medical mask even though they were in public, so it was easy to guess what he was thinking.

 _Gwen_ , Peter mouthed at him before turning back to his phone call. “Did… did you need something or…?” Their flight would begin boarding shortly, and although Peter didn’t want to be rude and cut her off, he sort of needed her to get to the point before he was forced to hang up or get left behind in New York.

“Ah! Right, if you’re not back yet, but answering your phone, that means you’re probably at the airport, right?”

“Yes,” Peter affirmed and turned to look over at Wade. He was now preoccupied with people watching as an angry passenger argued with an airline employee about upgrading their ticket minus the mandatory surcharge. Peter might have been inclined to poke fun at the scene with Wade if he wasn’t already busy with Gwen.

“Okay, so, I got a call from Maria Hill! You remember that lady who stuck up for you and Pileta in the meeting with Fury?”

“I… I think so?” Peter rubbed the back of his neck trying to recall an image of her face. He’d been so certain he was about to get fired, he hadn’t really paid much attention to anyone else in that room other than Nick Fury, the owner of Modern Marvels, and Wade.

“She was- augh! Nevermind! Anyway,” Gwen continued on, her voice rapidly speeding up as her excitement grew. “She told me your and Pileta’s next big match is going to be a pre-qualifier for the tag team championships!”

“Wai- what!?” Peter shot up out of his seat and startled Wade, who bumped into the person seated next to them. He hastily apologized under his breath before standing up to join Peter and eavesdrop on the other side of his phone.

“You heard me! You two have a shot at being the next big tag team champs! The Avengers were speculated as the main challengers against Shield, but your new tag-team’s changed everything!” Some rustling could be heard in the background, and Peter looked over at Wade out of the corner of his eye. All he got in return was a pointed look with a flapping hand motion telling him to pay attention to his phone.

“That’s… that’s great,” Peter told her, turning his attention back to the call.

“Great? GREAT!?” Gwen shouted. “More like phenomenal! Do you even _know_ how long Cap and Bucky have held those stupid titles? If you and Pileta upset their record… that’s… you two would be the first tag-team of your kind to hold those belts! THIS IS A-MAZ-ING!”

“Yeah, for sure,” Peter agreed and turned to look at Wade who had tapped him lightly on the shoulder with their boarding passes. Now having Peter’s full attention, he passed off one of the tickets to Peter and redirected it toward the first round of pre-boards getting lined up at their gate. “Hey, Gwen? I… I think I gotta go now, but we’ll talk more once I get back, okay?”

“Yes, definitely! And Peter,” she went on. “Don’t you forget about me this time! I know you’re technically all grown and stuff, but I’m your talent manager, and I deserve to be included in any plans you’ve got going on with your new partner, _alright?_ The best way for us to ensure you two win those belts is by making sure you and Pileta really sell the moral dilemma of your characters’ opposing natures! Ah, which reminds me… I need to get in touch with Weas...”

He nodded along to her talking for a minute or two longer before saying his final goodbye and hanging up. When he turned back to face Wade, the last thing he expected was to get hoisted up and twirled around in the middle of their flight gate.

“We get a shot at the titles!” Wade cackled loudly as he spun them around. “And last week we thought we were gonna get fired, so haha Fury, kiss my ass! This is the best!”

“Yeah,” Peter started laughing as Wade set him down and the dizziness finally caught up to him. “This is really happening!”

“It definitely is,” Wade leaned down into his space and pulled Peter in for a quick kiss. If Peter thought he was disoriented before, Wade’s mouth covering his own took that feeling to a higher place and quadrupled it.

It didn’t matter if they were making a scene like two nut jobs in the airport or that they’d be traveling with the same folks watching their spectacle next to the gate. Peter allowed himself to get lost in Wade’s excitement and shivered at the next words that were whispered in his ear.

“And I wouldn’t wanna do this with anyone but you.”


	8. Powerbomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Powerbomb is a throw in which an opponent is lifted, usually in such a way that they are sitting on the attacking wrestler's shoulders, and is then slammed back-first down onto the mat. Powerbombs may also be used in mixed martial arts competitions. In professional wrestling, however, this move is often used by a larger wrestler to counter a smaller wrestler’s hurricanrana. Lou Thesz is credited as inventing the original move.

* * *

  
A month passed before an official announcement was made for Peter and Wade to take on the Avengers for a pre-title qualifying match in the next big pay-per-view. Iron Man and Hulk had only a few interactions allotted to build up a feuding storyline between Dos Rojos, the name of their new tag team partnership. Thankfully, Pileta de Muerto had helped a lot in that regard as he was the professional heel of their team.

Wade had made sure to come out at various inopportune times and cause distractions in both the Hulk and Iron Man’s individual matches, ultimately costing both men wins and stirring the pot of conflict between their teams.

Of course, to further play into this storyline, Spider-Man was always just a second too late to reel his partner back in from causing problems but that was the kind of entertainment their fans wanted to see. It visibly proved what they’d always known and loved about Wade’s character, that deep down inside Pileta de Muerto was still a bad guy who refused to be tamed regardless of any debts he might owe to another wrestler, let alone a face like Spider-Man.

Prior to their fight against the Avengers, Peter and Wade had gotten a single night to practice planning their match with their opponents, and it hadn’t gone well. A few days before their big event, they’d all met at one of the company’s private gyms in the afternoon and that was where Peter got to see the ugly tension between Wade and Tony firsthand.

Even casual fans of MMW knew that Pileta de Muerto had challenged and taken Iron Man’s mask in a betting match two years ago. Unlike Peter’s, there had been a lot of build-up to their mask versus mask fight.

He remembered watching everything play out from the other side of his TV set and recalled how intense both men had struggled on screen to keep their identities secret. Back then, their open contempt for each other hadn’t seemed as real as it did now because everything was supposed to be scripted in wrestling… right? Losing that fight shouldn’t have mattered to Tony Stark because Iron Man was a face and they took losses with dignity! Likely, Stark knew the results of the match just as Peter had his. If he were a true professional, he should have been able to come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t change the outcome. Now though, meeting him in person for the first time, Peter realized that even after two years, Tony Stark still hadn’t recovered from his loss to Wade.

Tony showed up to practice late, something Wade took as a personal affront and made sure to let him know, in no uncertain terms, he did not appreciate it.

_“Nice to see you made it, Iron Princess. Fashionably late as usual.”_

_“Stuff it Dead Ass, I’ve got a busier schedule than any of you.”_

_That comment had set Wade off, who was obviously shooting Tony Stark a death glare from underneath his full face mask._

_“I’m sorry, did we book you at a_ bad time _? My agent and I never know when it’s_ not _scotch ‘o'clock for you.”_

Peter gripped tighter to the top rope of the ring and shuddered at the memory. The two of them had then proceeded to engage in a shoving match that Bruce Banner, Tony’s tag team partner, was forced to step in and break it up. It was shocking to Peter that Tony was still upset about something from years passed that he would purposely allow it to interfere with his work now.

Their actual tag-team qualifying match was currently in progress and had been going on for several minutes now. Pileta de Meurto was currently giving Spider-Man his second short reprieve while he faced off against the Hulk in the middle of the ring. All of them had unanimously decided that it would be best if Tony and Wade were kept apart from one another as much as possible, especially under the scrutiny of live cameras.

Nothing good could come from allowing them to settle their animosity with fists, scripted or not, so Peter had opted to start the match against Iron Man and would then tag Wade in whenever Tony switched out with his partner. It was easier to avoid conflict altogether than to try and resolve it this late in the game, that much Peter was sure of. 

The ring bounced up under Peter’s feet and brought him back to the action that was unfolding right in front of him.

 _Not a good time to space out, cadet,_ he told himself before focusing on where each wrestler was. The Hulk had just pitched Wade across the ring, a few feet away from where Peter was standing. Banner was rolling out his shoulder and watching intently for what his opponents would do next.

“Spidey!” Peter vaguely heard Wade call out, dramatically dragging himself in for a tag with one arm. His left hand waving wildly overhead, looking for a trade-off.

Using the ropes as leverage to lean as far as physically possible into the ring, Peter stretched his left arm out for Pileta to lunge and slap his hand. A second later, he was leaping over the top rope and somersaulting into the middle of the ring. The Hulk was less dramatic about his tag, opting instead to stand up fully before trudging over to allow Tony a chance to pat him on the upper arm and make himself the new legal man.

Once Spider-Man and Iron Man were both situated in the center of the mat, they began circling each other slowly. They had one more false strength grapple before they transitioned into the finale. Peter was supposed to set Tony up for a traditional German suplex but would be thwarted as Iron Man broke free of the hold at the last minute. Tony would then stumble around and that’s when Peter would leap on him to catch him in an octopus hold - the new submission Wade had taught him that he had yet to debut in front of a live audience. While all of this was scripted to happen, Wade would rush into the ring to stop the Hulk from interfering and help break Stark out of the move.

Iron Man would then tap as he was scripted to and that would be the end of their fight. Dos Rojos would win the match and go on to face Shield in the final pay-per-view of the season. Whether or not they’d be allowed to win the belts depended on their ability to sell their match tonight. If the crowd responded favorably to their win, the writer’s might actually give them a shot… or so Gwen had explained to Peter.

And that’s how everything was _supposed_ to go down, at least what had been discussed and agreed upon a few days prior in their practice match.

When Iron Man lunged to meet Spider-Man in the middle of the ring, something was off about it. Tony had been a little sloppy at the start of their fight, but now he was worse. He nearly missed catching Peter’s shoulder and grabbed him too roughly by the skin of his neck at the last second, painfully overcompensating. Peter hissed quietly through his teeth but did his best not to flinch away.

“You… you’re hurting me!”

“Sorry,” was the half-hearted apology he got before they began shoving against each other, the heels of their shoes picking up off the mat to better support their combined weights. Tony was a little stronger than Peter but that didn’t stop him from doubling down and increasing his force.

Regarding the previous slip-up, Peter resolved to let it go. If a professional wrestler got mad every single time someone accidentally hurt them in this sport, there’d be more personal grudge matches than the writers and fans could possibly keep track of. If Peter was like that, he would never have been able to forgive Wade in the first place.

When they finally broke apart, Peter launched himself further back than necessary and rebounded into the ropes. It was time to finish up this match; Tony was ready for him, having stuck out an arm to catch Peter in a clothesline to stop his incoming attack. Peter ate the back bump that resulted from crashing into Iron Man and threw himself down hard against the mat. He gritted his teeth through the sting and waited for Tony to peel him off the floor. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and tugged him up only a second later.

This was it.

Spider-Man got back on his feet and allowed Iron Man to control his movements briefly, a classic fake-out, before gut punching Tony and spinning around him to slip his arms down along Tony’s waist. Peter was supposed to half lift for the suplex but fail when Tony kicked out. Once his opponent’s feet touched the ground again, Peter would then try for a second lift and Tony would _elbow_ his way out of the hold. That’s where the new submission would come into play, and Peter was grateful Wade had allowed him to practice the maneuver multiple times the night before so he would be quick with the transition.

Peter spread his legs and gave his coworker a quick squeeze, the signal they’d agreed upon pre-lift, before attempting to haul Iron Man up. As planned, Tony’s legs kicked out wildly the second they left the mat. Their audience got loud as they waited to see who would prevail in this current test of strength.

Aborting the first lift, Peter gave Tony one more squeeze before trying for the second lift. When he went to pick Tony up again, his coworker violently twisted around in his grip and smashed the back of his elbow right into Peter’s mouth for real.

The pain was sharp and instant, leaving him half dazed for a second. Peter immediately dropped Tony and stumbled backwards to crash into the ropes behind him. He slung one arm over the top for support and brought a gloved hand up to his lips. Drawing it away revealed bright red blood all over the tips of his fingers.

His blood.

He was bleeding.

Vaguely he heard the audience boo at the obvious botch. This was wrestling, not MMA, none of the superstars in the ring were actually supposed to get hurt even though it did happen from time to time. Facial injuries always looked worse than they actually were because the human head was incredibly vascular, but Peter doubted many of their fans knew that because seeing him bleed had drawn an incredibly strong reaction from the crowd.

Even if it was unplanned and had definitely hurt, Peter didn’t intend to play the victim. Instead, he straightened up, ready to press on. He turned his head to the side, sucked in as much of the blood oozing out of his lower lip as he could, and spit it out over the side of the ring.

They could still make this work, they could-

He never got a chance to finish that thought because the moment he turned back to face Tony, he saw Pileta de Muerto jump over the top rope across from him and spear Iron Man right into the nearest corner. Tony’s head pinged loudly off the padded turnbuckle and fans closest to the ring could be heard wincing audibly into the live action mics. Getting in a cheap shot like that in retaliation should have been enough as far as receipts went, but it wasn’t for Wade. He began pummeling Tony with both of his fists, punches resounding all throughout the arena.

Peter moved to intervene, but someone else’s arm snaked around his torso and stopped him from rushing to separate the now unscripted fight happening across the way.

“Hey. Stop.” Peter recognized that voice as the large arm around him constricted in a pseudo hold.

It was Bruce.

“Lemme go!” Peter began to squirm but stilled the second Bruce put some real muscle into his grip.

“Let them handle it,” he warned Peter a second time, pointing over to prove that Tony was completely capable of defending himself. Iron Man took a punch to the jaw and brought one of his own free hands back to crash into the side of Wade’s head like a sledgehammer. 

“N… no!” Peter redoubled his efforts. “I gotta… I gotta stop this!” Thinking fast, Peter stomped the heel of his shoe down on the instep of Bruce’s right foot. The larger man jolted and relaxed his hold long enough for Peter to break free and run over to the other side of the ring.

Both he and Wade had been getting steadily closer since their trip to New York, so Peter didn’t think twice or even hesitate when he threw himself onto Wade’s back to try and still his fists.

“Stop!” Peter shouted the second he landed on Wade. His right arm slung around Wade’s neck while his other hand reached up to grab for one of Pileta’s fists.

Despite his best efforts, the fighting didn’t cease. It was like Wade hadn’t even heard him.

“P, stop it, please! STOP I- OOF!” Wade’s hand came back and slammed directly into Peter’s face, causing him to see stars. He slipped off of Wade and crumpled onto the mat, one hand coming up to grip at the throbbing left side of his head. The taste of blood was in his mouth again, and he realized that he must have bitten himself and reopened the cut Tony had given him earlier.

“Spidey!” Pileta shouted out, finally breaking out of his trance at Peter’s cry of pain. Wade tried to untangle himself from Iron Man to check on Peter only for Tony to tackle him back down to the ground.

The interference only served to anger Wade more.

“You… YOU FUCKIN’ BORRACHO PIECE OF SHIT!” They rolled around on the floor of the ring with Wade doing his best to keep them away from Peter. The next thing he knew, Bruce was by his side, turning Peter over to see if he’d lost consciousness.

“Hey, you all right?” Peter kept his hand sealed over his left eye but managed to nod as the light from inside the arena blinded him in his good eye. “I’m gonna stop this,” Bruce told him as he stood up to make his way over to where Tony and Wade were still fighting.

Before Bruce could step out of reach, Peter shot his free hand out to loop around his thick ankle. His strength was laughably pitiful, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try and push through this.

“No,” he croaked out, removing his hand from his face and using it to push himself up into a sitting position against the ropes. “Let _me_ end this.”

Bruce turned around. The look on his face showed he was unsure whether to listen to or ignore Peter but, in the end, he caved and turned back to kneel down next to Spider-Man. A large hand came to rest behind his shoulder blades and helped prop him up. Bruce tried to move him in such a way that made it look, to anyone who might still be paying them any mind, as though he was going to take advantage of Spider-Man’s weakened state.

Thankfully, all of the company’s cameras were still trained on Iron Man and Pileta de Muerto, who continued to duke it out on the other side of the ring. At the same time, security guards ran out from behind the curtains of the entrance’s titantron - they’d finally caught on that the fight going on in the middle of the ring wasn’t scripted.

“Gimme a boost,” Peter leaned up and whispered into Bruce’s ear.

Nodding and doing as he was told, Bruce slipped another hand against the small of Peter’s back and discreetly helped him up to his feet. Peter took one last deep breath before gripping both of his hands on Bruce’s forearm to pull himself up high enough to kick his right leg over Bruce’s head to rest on the back of his neck. As soon as his knee was locked in place, he transitioned the move into a head scissors. Peter’s sharp movement forced Bruce’s trapped arm down, and Peter rotated in a counter-clockwise circle around Bruce’s neck. He made sure to keep his left leg pushing down to exert force on Bruce’s cervical spine while his hands walked up the length of his thick arm to grab ahold of the Hulk’s wrist and hyperextend the elbow joint. Once he was sure his right foot was where it needed to be, in place behind Bruce’s left knee, Peter pulled the stretch with all of his remaining strength.

The crowd erupted in a chorus of shouts when they realized there were still two other wrestlers in the ring playing by the rules outside of the impromptu brawl happening between Pileta de Muerto and Iron Man. The ref, who'd been hopping around like a stressed out frog, saw his chance to end the match. He rushed over to where the Hulk and Spider-Man were locked in a new kind of submission hold.

“You tap?” the ref asked over the din of the fans in the arena and the other fight still going on behind them.

“YES!” Bruce yelled as he fell to one knee while Peter continued to pull. The Hulk’s other arm, unaffected by the submission hold and freely moving against Peter’s abdomen, was now frantically slapping the back of Spider-Man’s left thigh.

The ref spun around and waved his hands until the bell rang out. Peter instantly released the hold and rolled off of Bruce just as security stormed into the ring and bodily forced Tony and Wade apart. It took three men each to keep them separated, but it did nothing to quell the verbal match continuing on between the two of them.

“How about you try showing up to your next match sober, culero!”

“Eat me you disfigured prick!”

“Enough, enough!” One of the security guards spun Iron Man the other way and helped escort him out of the ring. Tony Stark, ever proud, snatched his arm back and stomped away, trying to look as dignified as a person could sporting a swollen chin and two black eyes. Wade had certainly done a number on him, and Peter grimaced as he thought about how Wade must look under his costume. Surely it had to be worse than himself… both men had taken a serious beating from the other.

Sitting up, Peter watched Bruce roll out of the ring but not before giving him a quick wink and chasing after his tag team partner. It wasn’t news that Iron Man was sort of a sour loser, but that was part of his character’s charm… or so Peter had thought. The more he got to know about Tony Stark as a person, the more he steadily became disillusioned with him.

Peter could only hope that future matches with Stark or any of the other wrestlers in this company wouldn’t end nearly as bad as this had.

Once Tony had put a decent amount of space between himself and Wade, security released Wade. Peter watched his partner spin around and stalk over in his direction. He kneeled down next to where Peter was still resting on the mat and leaned in close to look him over.

“Shit,” he heard Wade curse under his breath. With a helping hand from Wade, they slowly stood together. Wade made sure to support Peter by the waist in case he still felt unsteady. Once they were back on their feet, the ref walked over to reach for one of Spider-Man’s wrists to raise it high as a part of the winner’s tradition while the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers but was shocked to have his hand smacked away by Pileta de Muerto.

“Not now,” Wade hissed at the referee through the fabric of his mask as he turned to escort his teammate out of the ring. Peter stumbled after him as they walked quickly up the entrance ramp, his arm tethered in Wade’s vice-like grip. He led them down a series of long hallways until they stopped directly in front of a dressing room. It was Wade’s, but that was only obvious to Peter because he’d snuck in there not ten minutes before their big match to both help Wade lace up his mask and receive his now customary good luck kiss.

He’d told himself it wasn’t weird if they wandered in and out of each others’ dressing rooms now. They were partners, officially, in and out of the ring. No one would suspect that there was anything else going on between the two of them but a solid working relationship. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe, but it felt different now with the sudden urgency Wade was exhibiting.

He fumbled with the handle, barely managing to get it open in such a hurry. Once he got the handle to turn, Wade shoved Peter in first and slammed the door shut behind them. After checking to make sure the lock was in place, not once but twice, Wade rounded on Peter and reached under his chin to unsnap the mask’s simple button clasp. It popped open and instantly relieved some of the pressure around Peter’s aching face. Before he could reach up to remove the material himself, Wade was already slipping thick fingers up under the seam along the sides of Peter’s head and gently lifting the mask off.

Now no longer an obstacle, it was discarded somewhere on the other side of the room, and Wade’s fingers were back to carefully turn Peter’s face to and fro to further inspect him for injuries.

“Sonuvabitch,” Wade seethed darkly behind the red, black, and white expressionless design of his own mask. “I should kick his fucking teeth out!”

“Wade,” Peter brought both of his hands up to wrap around Wade’s wrists. “Wade,” he tried again, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t _look_ fuckin’ fine to me!”

Peter tried to offer him a smile, but it quickly turned into a grimace as the cut in his lower lip strained and tried to tear back open. “Okay, so maybe not… 100 percent fine, but I’m alright. I’ll be alright,” he assured. That answer wasn’t good enough for Wade who sighed again before finally relenting and lowering his hands.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he apologized with his head hung.

Looking past Wade’s slouched shoulders, Peter caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His bottom lip had indeed been split when Tony nailed him in the face. Some dried blood was still present on his chin from where it had reopened the second time, and he ran his tongue tentatively over the newly scabbed seam. It felt tender and prone to open again if not handled with the utmost care. The other shocking thing to greet him was a very obvious bruise darkening the underside of his left eye. His eyelids were only now starting to swell but would certainly get worse if ice wasn’t applied soon.

Fortunately, Wade had him covered. Before he even stopped to remove his own mask, he was frantically digging around in a locker for his cellphone. He then fought with the keypad, trying to type in his passcode before eventually caving and ripping one of his gloves off. The second he got onto the phone’s main screen, he was thumbing at his contacts list and pressing the phone up to his cloth covered ear.

“Yeah, me,” he sassed back at whoever he’d just called. “I need a solid. No, not like a state of matter you idiot! Get me ice, a lot of it! And something to hold it in. No, we are NOT gonna talk about what just happened on live TV, just bring me my ice, NOW!” Then he hung up as quickly as he’d made the call, pitching the phone behind himself carelessly and turning back to Peter, who was still in his Spider-Man costume minus the mask.

“Weas is on his way.”

Trying not to groan out loud, Peter walked up to Wade. “It’s not that serious,” he reasoned. “It’s a black eye, not a broken arm.”

“Pssh,” Wade waved him off and flipped the hood of his mask over his head to start unlacing the back. “If you think for one second that I’m letting you walk out of here looking like Rocky Balboa at the end of round six, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Here, let me,” Peter offered and stepped behind Wade to help him undo the laces he’d tied earlier. It was easier to have a second set of hands for a more traditional mask like this, and Peter relished any chance he got to take care of Wade. So often he felt there was an unspoken power struggle between them, not in a bad way, but it felt that he was always on uneven footing with the older man.

It was kind of silly to dwell on it, but it made Peter feel insecure just the same.

He was younger than Wade, less knowledgeable in all manner of things because of his age… but he was going to have to accept that sooner or later if he wanted this relationship to last. What he had now was completely different than his previous relationship with MJ. Back then, the two of them had been true equals, both around the same age with the same amount of life experiences under their belts. With Wade, they were equals in other ways, but it wasn’t the same.

Peter bit his lip unconsciously and hissed at the sharp sting of pain that resulted from his careless action.

Hearing him, Wade reached up to yank his mask off and whirled around to catch Peter trying to staunch a new flow of blood. Wade’s right cheek was badly bruised, the scarred skin there puffier and more aggravated looking than usual. He had a black eye of his own developing under his eyelid on the same side. There was even a bit of dried blood seeping from the corner of Wade’s lip but there were no visible breaks in the skin around his mouth. All in all, he’d gotten off easy compared to the damage he’d done to Tony. It could have been a lot worse.

“Pinche Hombre de Perro,” he raged, “like a split lip wasn’t bad enough, he had the goddamn nerve to give you a black eye, too!” Wade tossed his mask on the other side of the room and hastily removed his other glove.

“Uhm,” Peter slid his elbow pad up and began rolling down the fabric of one of his own gloves. Once he had a hand free, he brought the naked heel of his palm up against his lip while Wade tore apart his vanity on the hunt for a tissue. “Tony didn’t…”

“What’s that?” Wade called out, now digging in his work duffle. He came up with a small travel sized pack of tissues a second later and started scratching at the tiny adhesive dot that kept them trapped in their packaging.

“Well,” Peter dug the toe of his shoe into the floor anxiously, not sure if he should clarify for Wade how he’d received the other injury. Would it upset Wade? Probably, but Peter didn’t blame him. He’d been… distracted… too focused on Tony. Of course that didn’t make him accidentally hitting Peter in the face right, so it should be acknowledged. If he didn’t talk about it, Peter was afraid Wade might hold another, deeper grudge against Tony for something that wasn’t even his fault.

“It was… it was from when I tried to stop you two, you…”

Wade’s eyes slowly widened in realization, and he dropped the tissues.

“Peter, I-”

He never got to finish before loud knocking interrupted them. Weasel had arrived and was slamming his fist against the door of Wade’s dressing room like it owed him money.

“Yo, I ain’t got all day! Open up, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff or some shit!”

“Tch,” Wade clicked his tongue but made sure to give Peter a look that said they weren’t done talking. “Yeah, yeah…” he made his way over to the door and propped it open just a crack to talk with Weasel and collect his ice.

“What, you’re too good to let me the fuck in? Why did I run your dumbass errand again? You think I’m some kind of delivery boy?”

“No, you fartknocker, I’m not dressed.”

“Puh-lease,” Peter could Weasel saying from the other side of the door, “like that’s ever stopped you from prancing around in all your sinfully ugly glory before.”

“I’m being serious Weas.” There was a pleading tone in Wade’s voice that Peter had never heard before. It sounded hurt and vulnerable, two things that Wade never was. Peter didn’t know how to describe the way it made him feel.

“Yeah, all right, no need to fuggin’ cry about it. But don’t think you’re off the hook for talkin’ to me about what the hell happened in that ring! That didn’t look like some _scripted fight_ to me. You looked like you were out for blood.”

“Fine,” Wade conceded, leaning heavily against the door as he tried to close it. “We’ll talk about it later, promise. I’d really appreciate it if you left me alone now though, Weasel. Really.”

“Sure.” And then Wade was shutting the door, for once ending a conversation with his agent civilly. Peter almost wished he could have seen both of their faces in that moment. Neither of them had ever sounded… so friendly with one another. Maybe there was something more to their friendship that Peter couldn’t see on the surface but, for once, he was thankful for the ratty man’s relationship with Wade, even if it seemed disingenuous half of the time.

As soon as the door was locked, Wade turned around to stick out the package he’d received from Weasel. It was a plastic bag stuffed half-full with ice cubes. Peter was about to take the offering when Wade pulled it back abruptly and went to retrieve a hooded sweatshirt from out of his travel bag before wrapping the ice in the cloth. Once he was satisfied with the look of the makeshift ice pack, he handed it off to Peter.

“I…” he tried again, shame creeping over his features and infiltrating the depths of his eyes. “Peter, I… I didn’t-”

“No, no,” Peter waved him off, transitioning the ice from his one ungloved hand to the other. Gingerly, he brought it up to press against his injured eye. The relief he felt from the cold was instant. It definitely helped take the edge off the ache. “I’m fine, really. You didn’t mean to. I’m not mad.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Wade snarled, tightening his hands into fists by his sides. “I… I hurt you. I never want to-”

Letting the ice fall back to his side, Peter rushed across the room and repositioned Wade’s face to look at him.

“I mean it, Wade. I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. You made a mistake, so what? Own up to it! Say you’re sorry, that you’ve learned something from all this, that you won’t do it again but please, _please_ , don’t make this another wedge between us! We-” his cheeks heated as he thought back to all the things that had transpired in the past month. “We _just_ got past this! I don’t think I could… I can’t-”

He got cut off when Wade brought a gentle finger up to his lips, careful to only apply pressure to the top portion of his mouth so as not to aggravate the painful split in his lower lip.

“I don’t want that either, but I never, EVER, want to be the reason you’re hurt… wrestling or otherwise, again.” Wade lowered his head and swore under his breath before he dropped his hand. “Dammit… this stupid fucking shit with Tony needs to end. He’s been butthurt about it for two years too long, and I’ve been just as bad as him, letting every stupid little thing he does or says get to me. I haven’t been the better person in this situation either, and I’m sorry it got out of hand tonight. I’m sorry, Peter.”

Wade looked back up at Peter and leaned forward until their foreheads came together. “No more fuck-ups, Pete. I’m going to be that better man I told you I wanted to be back in Central Park… the better man you deserve.”

Peter nodded, believing every word he was told and doing his best not to get overly sentimental and tear up. He didn’t think his left eye could really handle that right now anyway, which reminded him of the ice in his other hand.

“Thank you Wade. I accept your apology,” he formally announced before stepping back and bringing the ice pack back up to the left side of his head. “Now can we please just get out of here? I think I’ve seen enough action for one night.”

“Yeah, okay,” Wade agreed, looking around to locate Peter’s mask. Once they managed to get it back over Peter’s head, albeit undone, he turned towards the door to make an escape for his own dressing room. Thankfully, their match wasn’t the last one of the evening. It wouldn’t be impossible for him to make it back to his room unseen and sneak out of the arena before any MMW interviewers could catch him or Wade post-fight to ask for a commentary on what had gone down in the ring.

Just as Peter got ahold of the door handle and was about to pop the lock, one of Wade’s large hands came crashing, palm first, against the door to make sure it couldn’t open. A large frame boxed him in from behind and startled Peter so badly, he nearly dropped his ice.

“Wha- Wade?”

“Peter… I never want to pressure you, you know that, right?” Wade asked, his voice low in the relative silence of the dressing room. Peter shivered as Wade’s breath ghosted along the back of his neck. They’d had this conversation once before, in a hotel room in another city.

_After one particularly easy meet and greet event in the morning, Peter had invited Wade back to his room. It was something he still couldn’t believe he’d ever had the courage to do, but Wade followed behind closely as Peter led the way._

_They’d managed to behave themselves until Peter opened the door and then Wade jumped him, pinning and kissing him desperately against the wall. Once the door was slammed shut behind them, things occurred in such rapid succession that Peter could hardly remember how he’d managed to lose most of his clothes in between the entryway and the bed._

_Looking down at himself in only his boxer briefs compared to Wade’s current state of overdress had been the shocking wake-up call he needed to slow things down. He’d put both of his hands up against Wade’s shoulders to stop them from tumbling over onto the bed and going any further. The action gave Wade immediate pause, and he stilled as soon as he felt Peter press back against him._

_“You okay, sweetheart?”_

_He’d asked the question so kindly, so carefully, like he knew Peter was the one who needed to be reassured the most._

_“What’re we doing?” Peter asked, not brave enough to look up into Wade’s eyes and see the face he’d made in response to the question._

_“Well,” Wade began, reaching up to loop his hands around Peter’s wrists and tug them down so he could link their fingers. “I thought you invited me back here for sexy times, but I might be wrong? Am probably wrong if you’re feeling even the slightest bit uncomfortable? Was that not what you had in mind?”_

_“I think,” Peter started and cut himself off abruptly. “I… I dunno_ what _I thought. This is all just moving so fast and you’re… you still have all your clothes on and-”_

_“You’re not okay with what’s happening? Wade finished for him._

_“Yes!” Peter blurted out, his fingers tightening as the volume of his voice increased. “I’m really… last time, in New York… if, if we’re going to have this kind of relationship, I don’t want it to be-”_

_“Sh, sh, I know,” Wade kept his grip on Peter’s hands as he stepped back to give him space. While that helped calm him a little, it didn’t quell the underlying worry of what a relationship with Wade might entail. Peter wasn’t naive. He'd used the internet to learn more about the physical activities two men could engage in. But how were they ever going to really_ be _together like that if Wade still didn’t trust him enough to take off any of his clothes. Heck, they hadn’t done more than kiss since leaving New York and that was weeks ago._

 _Wade’s hot and cold attitude was very confusing to Peter, and he wasn’t even sure he could physically do all of the things he wanted to try, but they would be infinitely harder to attempt if Wade couldn’t be undressed in front of him, if he didn’t_ act _like he could trust Peter to still care about him once he removed his clothes._

_From there, they’d had a long conversation that resulted in Wade explaining that there were some things he still wasn’t comfortable with yet. He’d promised Peter then that he would never pressure him into doing something he wasn’t ready for and expected a similar courtesy from Peter in kind._

_“We’ll get there soon, I’m sure of it… but not today. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”_

_And it did, in a way, but it also got Peter to thinking about what it was he actually was or wasn’t ready for himself. Maybe he should take time to step back and reconsider what it was he actually wanted out his relationship with Wade._

_Prior to this, he’d only ever been with MJ. So far, everything else about his time with Wade had been vastly different. Maybe it was because this time his partner was older and had more experience, or it could have been because he was seeing a man, someone who had an inherent understanding of his body and its desires that a_ girl _friend could never have._

_Either way, Peter ended up agreeing to Wade’s no pressure terms, and they’d picked right back up from where they’d left off earlier, except this time, Peter got a little of what he’d been hoping for. Since visiting New York, they’d mostly kept their physical contact to heated kisses and light touches, but just that once Wade allowed Peter to touch him without barriers… only the unblemished parts of his skin, of course, which included all of the areas below his waist. He’d even helped guide Peter’s hand to show him just how he liked to be held and other ways in which they could play around to make their pleasure last longer._

_Peter had more sense than to press the issue, pleased to get anything close to what his original intention had been. And, to be fair, he’d rewarded Wade in kind by letting him do something he’d fantasized about since New York, something that MJ never would have agreed to back when they were dating. Wade’s mouth on Peter… oh, it had completely blown his mind._

But that had happened more than a week ago… so why would Wade bring it up now of all times?

“I know,” he exhaled, leaning back into Wade’s chest to prove he wasn’t intimidated by such a loaded question.

“You said you wanna leave this place, and I’m all right with that, but I don’t want you to leave _me_ just yet…”

“Yeah?” Peter breathed, turning his head slightly to catch a glimpse of Wade over his shoulder. He looked so serious, almost pained with the look he gave Peter.

“Stay with me tonight.”

The breath Peter was about to take caught in his throat. Was Wade really asking him to… they’d… they’d never done _that_ before while traveling for a show. He… he didn’t-

“What’re you gonna do if I say yes?” He asked, curiosity genuine. He had to _know_.

“Never let you go,” Wade told him.

“Yes,” slipped out past Peter’s lips before his mind could fully process all of the implications of what he’d just agreed to.

“Then what are we waiting for? Hurry up and get changed.”

Wade opened the door for Peter, and he stumbled out, tripping over his feet as he raced down the hallway back to his own dressing room.

His door wasn’t far, not surprising as he and Wade were partners now. He slipped right in, noticed only by a security guard further up the hall. Placing his ice pack down on his vanity, Peter began the process of peeling his costume off. The first thing to go was his remaining glove, and he hoped Wade had the good sense to grab the other one he’d left behind in his dressing room or Spider-Man was going to be fighting all of next week without them. Once both of his hands were free, Peter reached up to carefully remove his face mask. Next, he took off his shin guards; he needed to get those off his legs if he ever planned on removing his shoes. Using the tips of his toes to hold the heel of his shoe in place, he shimmied out of them, one foot at a time. The only thing left after that was his shorts.

Carefully examining his crotch, Peter was thankful their company required all male wrestlers to wear cups. Not just for their own safety but also to protect the modesty of their fans. Wade wasn’t kidding when he’d said it wasn’t uncommon for a guy to pop a stiffy from too much physical contact in the ring. Testosterone was a powerful and scary hormone.

Peter hurried to slip his shorts down his thighs but didn’t bother to change out of his jock strap into a more comfortable pair of boxer briefs. He wanted to get out of the arena as quickly as possible and there would be time for him to shower and change properly when he got back to his hotel room. Slipping into some loose track pants, Peter wondered briefly if Wade would let him shower before they did anything… _more intense_ than just make-out.

He could actually smell himself, the anxiety from earlier mixing terribly with the sweat of their fight. He felt ripe enough to put a skunk to shame. Before shrugging into an oversized hoodie, Peter made sure to double check that he hadn’t forgotten any of his personal effects in his dressing room. Leaving as soon as possible was his goal, sure, but leaving something behind like his cell phone or a part of his costume could result in a costly mistake, in more ways than one. Satisfied that everything was accounted for, Peter tossed the rest of his belongings into his travel duffle and zipped it shut.

Peter made sure to toss the hood of his sweatshirt up before unlocking his dressing room door and stepping outside. That, combined with the ice pack Wade had provided, did a good enough job obscuring his face, so he wasn’t worried anyone would notice him slinking towards an exit.

The same security guard from earlier didn’t spare him a passing glance when he walked by. He needed to hurry up and find Wade. Just as he was about to turn and head back towards Wade’s dressing room, a hand shot out from around a corner and grabbed him.

Peter yelped out loud but quieted as soon as he caught sight of Wade; his usual look, a medical mask covering the bottom half of his face under the shadowy hood of a sweatshirt, perfectly in place. Because he’d loaned Peter his thicker sweatshirt, Wade was relegated to wearing a thinner heather gray one. The outline of his muscles were clearly defined under the material, and Peter swallowed heavily when Wade flexed his arm to pull Peter close.

“Let’s hit the road, Jack,” he joked, pulling out his phone to show a share ride was en route to pick them up. There were multiple emergency exit doors lining the long hallways of the arena. Wade chose one a little further down from where their dressing rooms were located so as not to spark suspicion of who they really were. Once outside, Peter felt Wade jerk him to a stop and spun around.

“Here,” he offered him another white medical mask.

“Wade, I really don-”

But Wade cut him off by pointing adamantly at his own bruised eye. “Trust me, no one’s seen the damage without your mask on, but it won’t take more one than one good look at your face to figure out who you might be. Everyone saw your split lip on TV. No need to draw unnecessary attention now.”

“Yeah,” Peter conceded and took the mask out of Wade’s hand. “You’re probably right.” Wade waited until Peter had both loops of the medical mask over his ears before dragging him through the arena’s parking lot and to a corner less than a half block away.

“You sure this is the right way?” Peter turned to look around seeing nothing but parked cars in the lot behind them and empty streets ahead.

“GPS’s don’t lie,” Wade chuckled. “They’ll be here… maybe.”

Five minutes passed before a beat-up silver sedan pulled up to the curb.

“You called for a driver, sir?” A gentleman with a thick Indian accent popped his head out of the driver’s side window.

“Yeah,” Wade shouted out, elbowing Peter into action. They both walked around to the back while the driver scrambled out of the front seat to pop the trunk open for them.

“Uhm, sirs, not being the rude, but uhm… you are not happening to sick, am I right?”

Wade’s eyes narrowed just the slightest amount, but Peter could see his irritation rising and intervened.

“No, no, we just… don’t like the city air is all.”

“Ah,” the guy nodded knowingly. “Yes, yes, not good for the health. I am telling my family this all the time! Do they listen? No. Please, please, here,” he moved to open the back passenger seat door for them to get in. Peter nudged Wade in first and went to close the trunk before the driver beat him to it.

“Please allow me,” he politely offered. Peter just nodded and crawled into the backseat next to Wade.

“I don’t know if I like this,” Wade looked down at his phone screen, “Dopinder guy.”

“He’s fine,” Peter reassured, struggling to buckle himself in. “Most drivers are just friendly. Trying to engage in small talk is perfectly normal, now put your seatbelt on.”

Wade grumbled under his breath but did as he was told. The driver walked around to the driver’s side and let himself in. His door slammed shut and then he was clicking himself into the front seat. “You are going to-” he leaned over and swiped an app screen, “[Quadruple Tree](https://www.quotes.net/quote/58605)? I know it! Not far.”

“Yes,” Peter reaffirmed, and stealthily slid his hand to cover the top of Wade’s in the middle of the backseat. “If you could get us there quickly, we’d appreciate it.”

“Certainly sir! I am more better driver than some of the ones working tonight. Please leave it to me!”

Peter nodded and tightened his hold around Wade’s fingers.

The ride took less time than Peter would have thought thanks to the clear streets. _I’ll have to ask to never be the main event again then,_ he thought to himself. _It’s much easier to get out of those large stadiums if you can sneak out before the final fight._

Their driver pulled them up to the front of the hotel, but Wade directed him to park further away from the entrance and let them out in a darker area not surrounded by flood lights. Once they’d collected their belongings and waved off their driver, Wade nodded over towards a back walkway near the hotel’s pool.

“Wanna break some rules?” he asked in a playful tone.

Together, they walked over to the gate separating the hotel’s outdoor amenities from the parking lot and hopped over the fence. Peter tried not to laugh at how silly this all was, breaking into their own hotel; the very same one they’d walked into earlier that day without concern. Wade pulled out a keycard and flashed it at one of the hotel’s rear entrances. The moment it lit up, he propped open the door and held it for Peter to walk through.

The indoor area leading to the pool was empty so there was no one to notice them sneaking in. Peter kept walking towards the lobby before someone slapped him on the butt. He yelped and whirled around on Wade.

“What’re yo-”

Wade pointed at a nearby stairwell. “Leg day.”

Peter nodded and held open the door for Wade this time. “What floor are you on?” he asked, readjusting his travel bag over his shoulder as they climbed up the first set of stairs.

“[Ten-four good buddy](http://www.947wls.com/2017/10/04/10-4-good-buddy-its-national-cb-radio-day/).”

Peter nodded. “I’m on the eighth.”

Wade hummed at that and kept walking up the stairs. When they made it to the top of the seventh floor, Wade stopped in front of Peter to dig in his pant’s pocket for something. It took him a little bit of finangling while still holding his duffle, but he was finally able to pull a plastic room key out from a small white envelope.

“Get yourself cleaned up and bring all your things,” he instructed before continuing on his way up the stairwell. “Turn left when you see the elevators! 1001 in the back corner!” Wade hollered out as he disappeared out of Peter’s sight.

Satisfied that Wade would be all right climbing the last couple flights of stairs by himself, Peter pocketed the keycard he’d received from Wade and pushed open the door leading out onto the eighth floor. He walked until he came to his own room and had to rifle through his hoodie pocket for his key card. Sliding it into the key slot and waiting for the green light, he let himself into his room and tossed his bag on the bed.

Most of the wrestlers had checked in earlier that afternoon, but he hadn’t really gotten a chance to inspect the room’s interior thoroughly until now. There was a large king size bed in the middle of the room with a small veranda and a corner desk with a chair next to it. He wondered briefly if Wade’s room was the same as his own.

_Is his bigger or smaller? Should I have invited him here instead?_

Peter told himself not to worry about it and pulled out Wade’s room key. Turning it over, he saw 1001 scribbled on the back in black sharpie. He tightened his grip on the card before placing it on the TV stand in front of his bed and got about undressing for his shower.

While sudsing up his hair under a weak spray of water, his mind got to thinking about what it was exactly that he’d agreed to tonight.

He felt confident admitting that he was genuinely attracted to the man, had enjoyed everything they’d done together thus far, hands and mouths and... but what came after all of that, he wondered. Peter would be a liar if he tried to deny that he had spent a decent amount of time researching just what a male homosexual relationship could entail. He’d watched plenty of… reference videos in the privacy of his own home, felt embarrassed enough to faint after skimming through a few of them because it had never really occurred to him until seeing some of the content in those videos that he wouldn’t be in the same position he’d always been in regarding sex.

Sure, some part of him _knew_ that things were going to have to be different with Wade. They had to be; his partner was a man after all. But up until recently, he’d chosen to ignore the most obvious differences that having a physical relationship with another man might involve. Who _would_ be on the receiving end of the more intimate parts of their relationship? _Had_ he thought about that enough?

The idea of being the catcher and not the pitcher didn’t exactly bother Peter, at least, he didn’t think it did. He trusted Wade implicitly, and it had felt good when Wade kissed him and touched him before.

What did bother him, was that if he _didn’t_ , couldn’t for some reason, do those kinds of _other things,_ the more intimate and penetrative things that sex typically involved, would Wade still want him? Would Wade want to be with someone who had sexual hang-ups? What if he wasn’t enough?

Thinking back at how his previous relationship had come apart, Peter began to have doubts. Near the end of their time together, MJ had confronted him about being a cold and distant lover. As much as it hurt to hear, it was true that she had sort of fallen by the wayside after he enrolled in wrestling school. Once he started touring semi-pro, she had to be the one to initiate everything physical between them; his mind just hadn’t been focused on that anymore. Whenever they did manage to spend time together, she was often the one to take the lead and often complained of feeling like she was always the one pressuring Peter to participate in their relationship.

Didn’t he love her, she’d asked. Hadn’t their time together meant anything to him at all? Why was wrestling so important when it wasn’t going to provide a future for him? For her? She’d never once believed he could be as successful as he was now.

Peter roughly began to scrub the shampoo out of his hair. Just because he hadn’t been as passionate about their relationship as her, didn’t mean he didn’t care. Before she’d told him she liked him, he’d been a meek nobody. Spider-Man was the more confident part of himself that he could only express under the guise of a mask. He could never be anyone else other than who he was, and wrestling would always be a part of his story. It’d hurt that she couldn’t see that, couldn’t seem to accept him for who he was.

Regardless, they’d ended their relationship at her behest as amicably as they could, yet the experience had left Peter feeling listless all the same. He was rarely home on weekends. He told himself that there wasn’t time to properly cultivate a meaningful relationship with anyone and so he avoided them altogether. Peter was just focused on other things… more important things. He wasn’t missing out on anything meaningful in life or so he told himself. But now, being with Wade had awoken something in Peter, a hunger for closeness he’d never felt before. This thing they were doing, it meant something to him, something deeper than he ever could have imagined.

Taking a note from his time with MJ, he never wanted to make someone he cared about, someone like Wade, feel unloved again. At least with Wade, he knew the expectations and realities of wrestling professionally and there would be no shortage of time they could spend together as long as they continued to wrestle for the same company. The other key difference was that Wade believed in him and thought he was fine just the way he was.

Peter ducked his head under the spray one last time.

 _It’s different. It will_ be _different,_ he told himself.

Once out of the shower, it took a few minutes to get dressed, pack up his belongings, and make sure he didn’t leave anything behind. Wade had seemed very insistent that Peter bring all of his belongings with him, which meant… he didn’t have any intention of allowing Peter a chance to return to his room tomorrow morning and check-out properly.

“Would he be upset if I left my things here?” Peter wondered out loud. _Would it look like I was second guessing him? Myself?_ Peter sighed and stuffed the rest of his dirty clothes into his work duffle along with his Spider-Man outfit. He’d just promised himself that he was done with that kind of attitude. He was committed to this; he needed to see where it would lead.

Gathering up his things and Wade’s card key, Peter elbowed the hotel door open and allowed it to swing shut behind him. He had his work bag over one shoulder and his small carry-on suitcase in one hand on the opposite side. It was possible to take the stairs and get to Wade like this, but that would negate the purpose of his shower and take longer. Besides, Peter was a little sore from this evening's events and felt he deserved to take the easy way for once.

Elevator it was then. Peter rolled his little carry-on suitcase up the nearest double doors and pressed the call button. He watched and waited as the LED light of the far right elevator began to count its ascent from the ground floor up. Peter repositioned himself just off to the side of the door as he watched the number settle on eight.

A loud ding signaled its arrival, and Peter stepped forward to enter but startled the second he caught sight of a middle aged woman standing in the back corner.

“Oh!” She jumped as well, seeing him carrying all of his bags. “This one is going up dear,” she explained as though he wasn’t aware.

“I…” Peter turned back to the elevator’s call button panel, the up arrow now deactivated since it had stopped on his floor. “It’s fine,” he said as he put his foot in the way of the door sensor to prevent it from closing.

The woman just nodded and reached over to hold the open door button as Peter boarded. He briefly heard her gasp when she finally got a good look at his face.

“Thanks,” he breathed out, trying to act as calmly as possible and watching her reaction out of the corner of his eye. She let go of the elevator button and pressed the one denoting the lobby for him without asking. With all his bags, Peter could see why she might have gotten the idea that he was checking out but didn’t bother to correct her.

Now that they were on their way, he looked up at the rest of the buttons and noticed her destination was the same as his, the tenth floor. Suddenly, it seemed an unwise decision to ride with her.

 _I should have waited,_ Peter chastised himself. But how could he have known where she was headed without being inside the elevator himself?

“Are you okay sweetie?” the lady asked him, concern written on her face as she took in his beaten-up appearance. Under normal circumstances, Peter wouldn’t have minded her trying to make polite conversation with him, even going so far as to indirectly check on his well-being due to the haggard look of his split lip and black eye. Right now though, he really just wished she could be like every other New Yorker he’d ever met and mind her own business. As the elevator doors closed, effectively trapping him in with her, he lamented that fact that she wasn’t the type to quietly stare at him and judge in silence.

“I uh,” Peter floundered, shuffling his duffle over his shoulder uncomfortably. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, trying to turn away from her so that she couldn’t examine him any further.

“If you say so,” the woman relented. “But whatever happened sure looks painful.”

“Mm-hm,” Peter shrugged and watched as the elevator light slowly began to count the floors as it traveled upwards. When they finally got to the tenth floor, Peter fidgeted while waiting for the woman to exit first. Part of him briefly contemplated allowing her to leave alone and letting the doors close so that the elevator could travel back down the lobby like she’d assumed… anything for her to forget she saw him and avoid any sort of unwarranted suspicion that he needed assistance.

The elevator chimed before the doors opened, and she took a few steps forward before stopping and turning to face him. “Uhm, young man,” she hesitated. “I don’t normally ask this, but… are you sure you’re alright? Your… uhm, your face-”

“Just an accident,” he held up a hand to quickly cut her off, rushing to grab his belongings and dart out the elevator doors passed her.

“This is the tenth floor,” she called out after him.

Peter made a quick left down a long hallway and raced to the last door on the left. Four golden numbers, 1001, greeted him when he crashed into the door. Peter juggled his belongings looking for the key Wade had given him, hoping the woman from the elevators hadn’t chosen to follow after him, when the door cracked open and a bright blue eye appeared on the other side.

“Peter, what-”

[LET ME IN](https://tenor.com/view/let-me-in-eric-andre-wanna-come-in-gif-13730108)!!!”

Wade closed the door quickly to undo the sliding lock. As soon as it was down, he swung the door wide to allow Peter inside. Shoving passed Wade and through the doorway, Peter threw himself into the entryway of the small hotel room.

“Why’re you in such a hurry? I mean, damn, I know I invited you over for a fun time, but you really didn’t need to rush.”

“It’s not that,” Peter wheezed as he dropped all of his belongings in a corner by the TV stand. “I-” the words died in his mouth as he turned around to look at Wade. He was standing next to the doorway wearing a bright yellow terry cloth robe. The robe should have been the thing that seemed the most out of place, but it was the fact that Peter was finally able to catch a glimpse of the elusive skin on Wade’s chest that shocked him more.

Wade had always been careful to never dress down in front of Peter. There was only one reason Peter was seeing him so exposed now and that was because Wade was allowing him to. The scarring on his chest was as extensive as that of his face, nothing that Peter hadn’t been expecting, but it was still shocking to finally be granted permission to see something so… strangely intimate about the other man.

“Well,” Wade shuffled his bare feet on the tan carpet of the hotel room. “You’re a little bit early. Give me a couple minutes to finish up?”

If Peter had more than a single brain cell working, he would have had the forethought to ask what Wade could possibly need time to finish up with. The guy was bald and appeared to have no visible body hair anywhere Peter could see. Instead, he kept silent and nodded as Wade excused himself back into the bathroom.

Now alone in the bedroom, Peter turned around to straighten out the bags that he’d haphazardly dumped on the floor. The clothes he had on now, a red and blue zipped up warm-up jacket over fitted black track pants, could suffice for tomorrow morning’s airport affair if he got out of them quickly enough. Not that he imagined Wade would mind… that was, after all, why he’d been invited here, right? Once he finished stacking his belongings in a more orderly fashion, Peter caught sight of a familiar red and black suit draped over the back of the desk chair by the room’s curtained window.

He’d been right earlier; Wade’s hotel room was a mirror of his own.

Peter wandered over quietly and reached out to pick up Wade’s mask. The inside lining still felt damp from their activities in the ring. None of that bothered Peter tough, who chose to readjust the mask so that Pileta de Muerto’s eyes were staring back at him. Every time he thought about the journey he’d taken to gain this level of trust with Wade, to develop _this_ sort of relationship with the man behind the mask, it marveled him. Here he was, a literal nobody who had come along and somehow managed to become partners with an incredibly talented wrestler such as Pileta de Muerto.

He traced the pad of his thumb along the fine stitching of Wade’s mask over each raise of fabric, each overlapping piece of material, that protected the face he had slowly come to love.

“See something you like?”

Peter startled at Wade’s voice and nearly dropped the mask in his hands. When he turned to look at Wade, not much was different from the last time he’d seen him. The yellow robe was still in place and there was the continued absence of water. Peter only nodded and set Wade’s mask back down on top of his costume.

“Just admiring your mask is all. I’ve always liked the design,” Peter confessed.

Wade hummed and helped himself into Peter’s personal space. “You know,” he drawled as he brought his hands up to run along Peter’s clothed sides. “Now that we’re tag team partners, we could opt to do pair masks.”

Peter’s eyes lit up, and he shivered when Wade’s fingers stopped to rest lightly against his ribcage. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Wade chuckled, continuing his ministrations until his hands came to rest on the zipper just above Peter’s sternum. “I might know a guy who knows a guy… could make some pretty sweet gear for you and me.”

And with that, he used his left hand to hold Peter’s track jacket in place while his right deftly unzipped the front. Wade let out a low whistle under his breath when it became apparent that Peter hadn’t bothered to put on an undershirt.

“Sure you weren’t just overeager when you came barging into my room earlier?”

“M-might’ve been a little bit,” Peter stuttered as Wade helped him get his arms out of the jacket’s sleeves and ran skilled fingertips over the hardening nubs of his nipples.

“Well, damn! Guess we oughta get started then.” Wade laughed out loud and redirected them back towards the bed. Peter’s backpedaled until his knees crashed into the soft edge of the mattress and bent reflexively. As soon as his bottom hit the pillowtop bedding, Wade’s lips connected with his. He began tonguing lightly along Peter’s bottom lip, mindful of the cut, and deftly slipped into Peter’s mouth, leaving him feeling light-headed and feverish. When Wade finally pulled back, Peter wasn’t the only one panting for air.

The anticipation in the room grew heavy, and Wade dropped his hands from Peter’s shoulders to rest gently on the waistband of his hips. The whole situation felt oddly similar to something that had happened between them once before, and Peter had to reach up to still Wade’s hands on his pants before he could pull them down over quivering legs.

“W-wait!”

Wade’s hands instantly retreated, and he shifted away from Peter though there was some apparent confusion in his eyes. They’d done this once before… Wade was obviously less dressed this time. What could possibly be the problem, he might be wondering.

“You okay?” Wade asked him, concern genuine as he peered down to study the look on Peter’s face.

“I’m… I’m fine,” Peter told him quietly, bringing his own hands up to try and pull Wade back in, but the other man stepped just out of reach. He clearly needed a direct answer before he felt comfortable getting back into Peter’s space.

“It’s just… I don’t want you to do everything. You… you did so much for me last time, you-”

“Sweetie,” Wade interrupted him. “This ain’t a contest. There is no: this person owes that person for something they did way back when. At least, that’s not how things should be in any decent sorta relationship. The things I’ve chosen to do for you are because I wanted to and not because I expect you to do something for me in retur-”

“I know that!” Peter tightened his fists as he tried to keep the volume of his voice controlled. “I know that, Wade. But I promised I wasn’t gonna just… be passive and...”

Wade moved back into his space and kneeled down at the foot of the bed, right in between Peter’s knees. “Is that what this is about?”

“What?” Genuinely confused, Peter watched as Wade gathered both of his hands in his own and unclenched them to intertwine their fingers. It was a grounding gesture, one that settled Peter’s pulse.

“I promised I wouldn’t do anything you’re not ready for. What I had planned for tonight doesn’t have to go beyond anything you’re not willing to do. I just figured.. if you didn’t mind looking at ugly ol’ me, well… maybe you could get it up to get it _in_ me?”

“What?”

“You know,” Wade rolled his eyes, “I’m a double teamer; I’ll play any field.”

“Oh… OH! No, no, that’s not what I meant!”

“What did you mean then?” Wade asked, seeking further clarification.

“Just… I was thinking earlier… you know that I used to have a girlfriend,” he began.

“Mm-hm, that old straight till you met me routine?”

“Well, maybe I’ve always been a little… curious,” Peter heard himself admit. “But she found me first and… well, I realize now that I probably wasn’t the best boyfriend I could have been to her. Not to mention, before you, all of my first-hand experiences were about… uh, _giving_ and not receiving…”

“And that’s where good ol’ Wade comes in handy! I’m happy to do either, Peter, unless of course you don’t really want any of that?”

“No, I… I dunno. What I came here expecting is not at all-”

“You really thought I was gonna make you the bottom? For our first time together?” There was a hint of amusement in Wade’s voice as he gently ran his thumbs over the skin on top of Peter’s hands.

“Well, I mean, out of the two of us, you’re definitely the more… experienced one, and I thought...” Peter began before pausing to look at anything other than Wade. Honestly, he hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t Wade offering to climb into his lap and let… well, let Peter be the one in control. “I didn’t think-”

“Looks can be deceiving. My character in the ring is one example of that. Do I seem like such a rude and conceited bastard in person?”

“No.”

“Exactly, so I’m serious when I say I’m a universal adapter. I’ve got slots _and_ plugs, baby.” That comment got a small laugh out of Peter, but he could tell Wade wanted a sincere response in return. “We gonna be alright, you and me?”

“I… I think so,” Peter told him, feeling the tops of his cheeks flush.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, darlin’, I’m fine with too. How’s about we try it my way first and see where that takes us? If and when you’re ready to experience that other thing, we can always fool around more later… but right now, Peter, now I just wanna spend this night with you. Is that okay?”

“Ye-yeah…”

“Mmmm a stutter,” Wade grinned. “Now I know you’re mine.” He leaned upwards and recaptured Peter’s mouth with his own.

“But Wade… w-wait!”

Settling back on both of his knees, Wade waited for Peter to tell him what to do.

“I… can you come up here, please?” Peter scooted over to pat the bed next to him. Wade stood up slowly and sat down beside him. The bed dipped under his weight, but Peter wasn’t the least bit perturbed.

“What I meant earlier… I don’t want everything we do to be about me. I want this to be about you, too.”

“That’s extra sweet of you, Pete, really. But I should tell you… making you feel good makes me feel good.” With that, he closed the distance between them and began kissing at the space between Peter’s neck and shoulder.

“Wade,” Peter exhaled and brought his hands up to dig into the soft material of Wade’s robe. The cloth felt warm, like the rest of its wearer, and smelled faintly of clean soap and fabric softener. “Let me,” he got out before one hand trailed down to catch the tie around Wade’s waist.

If Wade wanted to put an end to this, Peter gave him plenty of time to do so, slowly tugging the terry cloth drawstring out of the loop Wade had knotted. As Peter undid the tie, Wade made no move to stop him, choosing instead to suck a rather painful hickey into the curve of Peter’s left shoulder. 

“No marks,” Peter hissed through his teeth, dropping the waist tie and sneaking his hands inside Wade’s robe.

“Too late for that,” Wade laughed and repositioned himself on the bed to give Peter better access. 

The texture of Wade’s skin was… deceiving. Although his chest was knotted and contractured in scars as heavily as his face, Peter’s palms encountered only soft, albeit slightly uneven, flesh. He traced the tips of his fingers cautiously along the dips and raises on Wade’s skin, leaning back just far enough so gauge Wade’s reaction to every scrape and touch.

When no obvious signs of discomfort were noted, Peter decided to press for more. He shifted away from Wade, allowing the man to sneak in one more kiss at the apex of his shoulder before reaching up to slide both of his hands into the sleeves of Wade’s robe and slide it off him in the same fashion Wade had undressed him earlier.

Wade shivered at Peter’s touch but, again, didn’t move to stop Peter from disrobing him. Once Peter got both bright yellow sleeves off Wade’s shoulders and pooled atop the bedspread, he sat back just a little further to take in all that Wade was offering.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that Wade was as fit out of clothes as he looked beneath them. The general outline of his body was always on display in both his Pileta de Muerto costume and his more form-fitting workout clothes… but to see him outside either of those things was… Peter sucked in his sore bottom lip carefully and fought the temptation to bite it. What Peter saw only quickened his pulse. Despite the scarring, Wade was still a perfect, statuesque specimen of man. If this was the worst of everything, Peter wondered why Wade had been so hesitant to show it to him shortly after he’d exposed his face.

“Pretty horrible, huh?” Wade joked, shrugging his shoulders and looking away. “I can get the lights if it bothers yo-”

“No!” Peter cut in. “No,” he repeated slower this time. “I want to see you… all of you.”

“I mean, if you’re sure?” Wade sounded confused, his cheeks now beginning to take on a rosy hue. He still didn’t turn to meet Peter’s eyes.

“I’m absolutely sure.” Peter raised his hand to cup the side of Wade’s face and pulled him in for a kiss, one that was meant to be tender and slow, to convey how achingly beautiful Wade was; proof of the way Peter saw him. When they broke apart from one another, Wade’s eyes were suspiciously wet in the light of the hotel room.

“Dios mio, Peter, eres perfecto.”

“I don’t know what half of that means, but thank you… I think.”

“Just shut up and lay down,” Wade shoved his robe on the floor and scrubbed at his face with a scarred forearm. He used his free hand to push Peter back onto the bed and then to steady his weight as he began the climb atop him.

Peter sat up just the tiniest bit to catch sight of the black undergarment Wade wore, the cut of the fabric suspiciously high on his thighs. Was that a- he didn’t have to guess when Wade settled heavily on his lap and reached down to grab Peter’s hands and maneuver them over the exposed part of his ass in the black thong.

“Figured you’d like that,” Wade chuckled darkly as Peter’s eyes grew round. Words escaped him as Wade began coaxing Peter’s fingers to move with his own, warming up the muscles lining the backs of his thighs.

“Oh my God…” Peter whispered, surprised, as Wade’s hands left his to their own devices and slid back up his chest. Wade rocked back into the motion of Peter groping him, the hard press of his own arousal pressing into Peter’s abdomen. Prior to this, Peter had been at attention and ready to go the moment Wade had allowed him to undo his robe, but now he was just… feeling all the toned muscles along Wade’s thighs and ass rub down on him, Peter could now admit that he regretted interrupting Wade’s removal of his pants earlier… they were definitely not going to be a wearable item in the airport tomorrow if there were any suspicious stains dotting the front.

“Mmm you feel good,” Wade groaned, both of his hands now busy pawing at Peter’s chest, toying with his nipples, rolling the peaks of them in between his thumb and forefingers. He was careful not to pull too hard or apply too much pressure because this moment was supposed to be about teasing and nothing more. “I figured I’d do a little prep work before you showed up, just in case you _were_ feeling adventurous. I’m glad it’s paying off.”

“Hmmrh?” Peter garbled out, trying to focus on what Wade was saying to him without losing himself in the onslaught of sensations he was being tormented by. His hips had already figured out an easy rhythm to bounce Wade in his lap with, the friction delicious but somehow not enough.

Right before Peter could ask for more, Wade lifted himself up and leaned forward, draping his upper body over Peter’s chest. He used both knees to balance most of his weight, keeping his lower half just out of reach of Peter’s incessant thrusting. Wade leaned forward to exhale a dare into Peter’s ear. “Why don’t you check a little lower.”

Not one to back down easily, Peter did as he was told and slid the fingers of his right hand further up to trace along the fabric of Wade’s thong until it dipped into the crevice of his ass. Sliding underneath the slim line of stretchy material and touching just shy of what Peter knew to be Wade’s hole, his fingers were greeted with a slick wetness, but this liquid was more viscous than water. It felt like… Peter moaned low in the back of his throat. This was the same thing Wade had pulled out of his work duffle the one time Peter had invited him back to his room. It was lube. This must've been what he meant when he said he needed to finish getting ready, had to be it.

Peter slipped his fingers out from under the elastic of the thong and slapped his hand down onto Wade’s right cheek. “You didn’t…”

“Oh hoho, I did.” Wade removed himself from Peter’s grasp to shuffle onto the edge of the bed and pop open a nightstand drawer. Reaching inside, he fumbled around with two items, one a small dark cylinder and the other a shiny foil packet.

The condom got tossed onto Peter’s chest. “Think you can handle that, hot stuff?”

“Y-yeah, maybe,” Peter stuttered out as he picked up the packet with one hand as his other busied itself with the waistband of his pants, trying to tug them and his underwear off in one fluid motion. He removed both articles of clothing and had just finished opening the foil packet when he caught sight of Wade wetting his own fingers with lube and reaching back to slip them into himself. The view was somewhat obscured by the material of his thong, but it was distracting enough that Peter didn’t realize he’d crushed the condom in his hand until Wade turned and started laughing at him. He sat there shaking on the other side of the bed, embarrassed to be caught staring and ruining a perfectly good condom. Peter tried to recover by uncrumpling the greasy little packet in his hands to see what he could salvage.

“I think you need some help,” Wade chuckled and reached back into the drawer for a second foil packet. “Maybe I can give you a hand?” He brought his dry hand with the fresh condom up to his mouth and gently bit at a corner to hold the packaging steady to open it. Crawling back over to Peter, Wade reached down to fist Peter’s already twitching cock in his slick hand. He gave it an experimental pump that got Peter’s knees to jerk as he brought the packet down, condom just barely peeking out of the packet. Using his free hand while still gripping Peter in the other, Wade pulled out the thin circle of latex and made sure to check that it was right side up before he carefully pinched the tip and unfurled it down Peter’s length.

“Not a bad fit,” Wade remarked, tossing the now empty packet over his shoulder and onto the floor. “Wanna see how you fit me?”

“Do not tease me, Wade, please…” Peter warned as Wade crawled back on top of him, his slicker hand now back on Peter’s cock, stroking it slowly to ensure there was more than enough lube coating the entirety of the latex.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wade smirked as he reclaimed his previous position over Peter’s lap. He reached behind himself to shift the back of his thong out of the way and took the head of Peter’s cock to tease it up against his entrance. Peter could just barely feel the heat inside Wade warming him through the condom. Why had he even been worried in the first place? Peter couldn’t think and groaned as Wade slid down just the slightest bit to push the tip of Peter inside himself.

He’d been right; everything about this encounter _was_ different from all the things he’d done before with MJ. The two experiences couldn’t be compared, and Peter wouldn’t have wanted them to be either. Before Wade, there had been loads of confusion and a sharp learning curve on how to provide intimacy in a physical relationship, what made his girlfriend feel good, what exactly she wanted him to do for her even if she didn’t properly communicate those wishes to him half the time.

But that aspect of his relationship with Wade was easier now than ever before. The other man _made_ it easy, slowly setting the pace for them and transferring control of the experience as he talked Peter through it, always sure to ask for his input so that they could really connect with one another in a way that he and MJ never had.

“[You ready, Freddie](https://youtu.be/M0eGNYx1r50?t=15)?”

Peter nodded and felt his jaw fall open as Wade sat back heavily and sank all the way down on him. He slid inside with little resistance and glanced up just in time to catch Wade’s eyes flutter shut the moment he settled flush against Peter’s thighs. They both groaned at the feeling of finally being connected, and Peter’s hands mindlessly came up to rest on the hard edges of Wade’s hips. His fingers grabbed hold and dug into the meat of the hardened muscle there as he felt Wade clench and unclench around him, trying to get used to the feeling.

“Mmmm been a while,” Wade leaned back and threw his hands out to catch himself on the tops of Peter’s knees. “But damn, you feel so… just _so_ amazing.” The words were spoken in awe, and Peter did his best to fight back the urge to begin selfishly thrusting up into Wade if he wasn’t ready.

“Wade,” he managed to get out through trembling lips. “Can I…? Would you…?”

Even without Peter finishing his question, Wade appeared to understand exactly what he was asking.

“[Yippie ki yay motherfucker](https://youtu.be/YfpDSNNgYhI?t=6),” Wade laughed and used the leverage he could muster from their new position to pull himself up and back down onto Peter slowly. Both of them gasped at the novel sensation. This position was more intense than anything Peter had ever felt before and after a few experimental thrusts upwards, counter to Wade’s quickening downward motions, he felt the telltale tightening in his groin that signalled he was nearing orgasm. If they kept it up at this pace, at this exact angle, Peter knew he wouldn’t last much longer. No matter how good it felt, coming too soon was unthinkable after he’d just promised himself that their encounter would be as much about Wade’s pleasure as his own.

Peter didn’t even wait for Wade to notice that he’d stopped moving beneath him. If he wanted to make this last, not just a one and done, he needed to do something and fast. Sliding both of his hands up Wade’s hips to either side of his ribcage, he rolled them over so that Wade was no longer the one on top.

“What’re yo- oof,” Wade wheezed as his back hit the bed and Peter readjusted his position, now above him. During the switch, he’d slipped out of Wade. Another slight to his masculine pride, but the short reprieve from the all encompassing hot and tight grip that was Wade allowed Peter to regain some rational thought. He dipped his head forward and caught Wade’s lips in a soft kiss, still trying to be mindful of his own split lip and Wade injuries as well.

“Let me, please,” Peter pleaded as he brought his hands up to gently cradle the sides of Wade’s face while pressing their foreheads together. His hair had grown damp with sweat, but if it bothered him, Wade said nothing. Instead they remained panting into one another’s open mouths, breath still heated and fast-paced from earlier.

Feeling emboldened by their new arrangement, Peter reached down with one hand to palm the front of Wade’s underwear. At this point the material barely covered all of Wade’s cock, its tip peeking cheekily out of the top and leaking a wet trail along his abdomen and the front of the black cotton fabric, evidence of his arousal. Why he’d chosen to keep the thong on this long, Peter would never understand. Right now, all it did was keep him separated from the person he wanted to feel connected to the most. His fingers gave one last caress up Wade’s length and followed the thin line of fabric to where it settled high along Wade’s hip. Using two fingers to burrow under the material, Peter tugged downwards until Wade caught on and raised his hips so that Peter could finish undressing him.

There was some shuffling involved to get his underwear all the way off, but they managed considerably well. When Peter got back into position, Wade spread both of his legs wide. That kind of welcome deserved a reward, and Peter was already gripping himself in one hand as he helped Wade gather up both of his thighs to lift them higher and grant Peter better access.

If entering Wade the first time had been easy, then this time was even easier, akin to a hot knife in butter. Peter felt himself melt the second his hips slammed back into Wade’s.

“Ohhh fuck,” Wade gasped, seemingly just as affected. Both of his hands slowly fell away when Peter’s replaced his hold on the back of his thighs to help maintain their position. Thrusting downward into Wade at this angle allowed Peter more control over his movements. With each pull out and press in, he decided just how deep and how fast they moved together. A slower build-up back to where they’d left off gave him a chance to stave off release just a little while longer.

After one particularly harsh snap of hips that left Wade hiccupping, _there, there, don’t stop,_ Peter came to a stuttering halt as Wade’s right hand came up to wrap around his own cock to pump double time to Peter’s original rhythm. Watching the way Wade stripped his own length, Peter didn’t know how much longer he would last; this wasn’t supposed to be about just him. Swallowing thickly and tightening his grip, Peter did as he was bid and resumed pounding into Wade at brutal speed that only their heart rates could match.

“Don’t stop,” Wade cried out, eyes squeezing shut to hide the shine of tears that were welling up in the corners of his eyes. “Don’t stop, Peter!”

And he didn’t, even when he had to throw his head back and cry out his own orgasm only a few thrusts later.

“Ah, Wade… I c-can't…!” Peter choked on his words and pushed into Wade one final time before falling back and pulling out. Wade’s legs fell down to rest over the tops of his thighs, and Peter watched dumbstruck and out of breath as Wade continued to fuck up into his fist desperately, his movements nearly erratic now that Peter’s body was no longer limiting his range of motion.

Seeing Wade in such a vulnerable state, heaving and needy, Peter lunged forward and grabbed Wade’s hand to stop it from bringing him to orgasm. Wade must have been so close, too. The way he sobbed as Peter’s intervention pulled him back from the precipice of his release was almost heartbreaking. If his own intent wasn’t to provide him with something even better, Peter might have felt bad.

Now though, he knew what he wanted to do. He was going to be the one to finish this just like he’d finished their match in the ring earlier tonight.

“Please, please…” Peter whispered against Wade’s mouth as he kissed him in between gasps. “Please let me…

He received a jagged nod in acknowledgement, Wade’s chest still heaving under Peter as he worked to calm himself down. As soon as Wade’s hand let go, Peter’s was right there to replace it. The last time they’d done this, Wade had been there to help him, showing Peter what he liked while both of their hands steadily worked his cock.

This time, however, Peter wanted to be the only one.

He tightened his grip around Wade and made sure to flick his wrist just so on the upstroke to purposefully tease the sensitive head of his cock; the way Wade had shown him once before. There was a spot that could get Wade bucking up uncontrollably into his hand if he could find it. Peter just hoped he’d paid close enough attention that last time to garner the same response on his own.

The new pace he set for them was a little slower than Wade’s previous one had been, but Peter wanted to prove that this wasn’t a race. He leaned forward and placed the majority of his weight on the hand still cradling Wade’s face while his free arm continued pumping Wade from base to tip, alternating pressure as he transitioned between strokes.

“That… what you wanted?” Wade finally managed to ask.

“Mmhm,” Peter hummed, tipping his forehead back against Wade’s to look directly into his eyes. They were truly the most beautiful and expressive part of his face, and he couldn’t help but think how amazing it was that he could openly gaze into them like this, without a mask, unlike so many other people. Peter didn’t think he’d ever tire of getting lost in them.

As he picked up the pace, the muscles in his arm now slowly beginning to burn with fatigue, Peter leaned over to breathe into the shell of Wade’s ear. “You’re wonderful,” he exhaled, the heat from his breath causing Wade to shiver and his cock to jump in Peter’s hand. That was exactly what he wanted, so he kept going, anything to get that same kind of response again and again.

“You’re so beautiful… so perfect…” he reiterated softly, watching in awe as Wade’s thrusts into his hand became more spasmodic at the words. Overcoming his last ounce of shame, Peter finally said the one thing that had been on his mind the moment Wade sank down on his cock. “You’ll look even better when you cum for me.”

And with one final stroke, Wade did, crying out Peter’s name. His hips convulsed violently, the movement nearly knocked Peter off the bed, but he managed to hang on long enough to milk Wade through the remainder of his orgasm. Peter’s grip eventually loosened and let go altogether as Wade’s muscles jerked in response to the overstimulation.

They laid there for a few minutes in relative silence, Wade still struggling to come down from his high and Peter quietly watching him the whole time.

“Fuuuuuuuucckkkk me… you did not mention you were packing soft dom vibes up your sleeve.”

“Sure, just give me a few more minutes and what sleeve?” Peter joked as they both collapsed together in a fit of giggles on top of one another. Peter’s renewed interest readily apparent when it bumped up against Wade’s thigh after a time.

“Damn, must be great to be so young,” Wade sighed before he grabbed Peter’s hand, still sticky with his release, and wiped it on the bed sheets next to them.

“Wade!”

“What? I’ll leave a tip…”

Peter made sure to scowl even harder as Wade continued cleaning off his fingers on the once pristine white comforter.

“Fine, a _BIG_ tip,” Wade corrected and tugged Peter back in for another kiss.  
  


* * *

  
Peter had been right. Wade didn't allow him to return to his room that night nor sleep, which meant they both barely made it to the airport in time for their flight the next day and had to disguise Wade’s slight limp as an injury sustained from their match the previous night. What mattered most was that neither of them had any regrets about what had happened in that hotel room.

Once they arrived back in Miami, everything snowballed from there. Two weeks passed at an incredible rate and suddenly the night of their big championship match was upon them. As per their tradition since they’d officially decided to team up in the ring, Peter snuck into Wade’s dressing room just before their fight. He had opted to remain in his casual clothes, preferring to change once they were alone together.

Wade opened the door to let him in on the second knock.

“Thought you’d gotten cold feet,” he joked as he propped the door wider for Peter to slip inside.

“Nah, I wear socks to prevent that.” They both chuckled at Peter’s horrible humor and got down to business. Gwen had told Peter it was usually customary for big title matches to be commemorated with a special mask or costume, preferably a pair set.

They had agreed to wearing one another’s branded shirts; Wade would be in a bright red and white Spider logo to represent Spider-Man, while Peter would be in a deep red shirt with black and white graphics resembling a version of Wade’s Pileta de Muerto mask. It was an easy way for them to walk out in support of their tag partner with little to no advance preparation as neither he nor Wade had gotten to a designer in time to get a pair of matching costumes.

Peter had chosen to pack his finely detailed sequin mask from their original mask versus mask match in addition to his usual one. He still wasn’t sure if it was the best decision for him to flaunt it again so soon. Not that long had passed since he’d worn it the first time, and besides, wearing it again might upset Mr. Fury. He’d have to double check and see what Wade went with before he came to a decision on what he’d walk out in tonight.

“Nervous?”

“Not yet,” Peter assured him, starting to take off his hoodie and undershirt. “I might be when we get to the ramp, though. That thing always makes me tense up… but maybe that’s because it’s the last thing we see before there’s no turning back.”

“Mmm, sounds about right,” Wade hummed and began transitioning out of his travel clothes and into his wrestling costume. The outfit he pulled out appeared to be the same as usual, deep crimson and black lycra fabric that would hug his form tightly once he stepped into it.

Peter didn’t bother to turn around when he shucked his track pants off. It wasn’t anything that Wade hadn’t already seen up close and personal. A low wolf whistle came out of Wade, but he didn’t make any sort of move to act on it. Peter laughed quietly and dug around in his bag for his wrestling shorts. These ones were newer but not much different from his regular pair. He and Gwen had penned a slightly different design on a napkin a while back, and a local screen printer downtown had managed to capture most of the stylistic webbing Peter had been looking for along the back. His gloves, knee pads, shin guards, and shoes remained the same.

He slipped his knee pads over his legs, one at a time, making sure to pull them high enough to step into his shoes so he could then slide the cloth shin guards over his shoes and secure them in place properly. Each guard had a different design, the right one featuring the words Spider written down the front of his leg whereas the left shin displayed the words Man.

Once his knee pads and guards were in place, he hunched over to lace up his shoes. Peter made sure to double the knot as a precaution. Tonight was going to make or break their future as tag team champs. He didn’t want to risk losing because he hadn’t bothered to properly tie his shoe laces. That done, he slid the stirrups of his cloth guards under his feet and tugged the banded material at the top, up and over his knee, so he could secure it under a cushioned knee pad. It took a bit of work, but he got both sides done in a reasonable amount of time.

Wade had stripped out of his regular clothes and was just reaching behind himself to zip up the costume when Peter walked over to give him a hand.

“Let me,” Peter told him, his cheeks now heated as he recalled the many other times he’d asked for permission to do something for Wade. Not all of them had been… sexual in nature, but he still relished any opportunity Wade let him take charge.

Zipping up the back of Wade’s costume, Peter secured the fabric with a hidden eyelet on the inside. The one benefit of wrestling shirtless was he only had to worry about his shorts being secure. When Wade turned around, he leaned down to pull Peter in for a quick kiss. This one was soft, not meant to mean anything more than thanks. It still warmed Peter’s blood all the same. Win or lose, after this match, he had every intention of inviting Wade back to his room for the night.

“You got your mask?” Wade nodded and motioned for Peter to follow him over to his travel bag, still open on the vanity.

“C’mere, I got somethin’ special to show ya.”

“It better not be another pet spider. I’m still mad at you for that. My condo specifically has a clause for no pets. I’m risking eviction keeping a creepy, crawly in my bedroom just because it was a gift from you.”

“Pssh.” Wade waved him off. “Don’t act like you don’t adore Harry.”

“That’s not- I did not name him that.”

“Nope, but I did,” Wade smirked, sounding smug. “Don’t worry, that’s not what this is.”

“Oh?” Peter risked venturing forward, following behind Wade and shifting up on his tip-toes to gain a better look. Wade reached into his bag and shuffled around some of his spare clothing, eventually retrieving a lumpy warm-up jacket that he handled with the utmost care.

“I know we didn’t talk about anything official, but remember when I told you that I _know a guy who knows a guy?_ ”

Peter nodded and watched as Wade began to unfold the piece of clothing in his hands. What Peter had assumed would be a different piece of Pileta merch Wade wanted him to sub in lieu of the original shirt they’d agreed upon actually turned out to be two brand new masks. They were both red, black, and white in varying degrees, but there were elements from his Spider-Man mask muddled with Wade’s own. Instead of featuring a full open mouth, both of these were meant to cover the entire face with only cut-out slits in the fabric which would allow for sound and air to easily pass through.

The change was certainly inventive and not unwelcome. Peter had never worn a full mask before but understood that since these were paired, Wade would be wearing one as well. Showing even this much skin would certainly put Wade out of his comfort zone.

“Wade, I… I dunno what to say,” Peter took the mask that was handed to him. There were more similarities to his mask’s design on this one than the version Wade had kept for himself. 

“Try it on,” Wade insisted, starting the process of unlacing the back of the mask in his hands. There was no hood or cowl attached to this design, but Peter was sure it would suit him all the same. He made sure to only undo the laces on his own to where he could just squeeze his head through the neck hole.

The fabric smelled like patent leather and some other kind of material Peter wasn’t sure of. He used two hands to prop the fabric open and managed to shimmy it down over his head, his ears flattened against the side of his head, and he had to readjust the material until his nose was lined up with the nasal holes. It wasn’t any more uncomfortable than his current design and when he worked his jaw, the fabric had enough give for him to open his mouth an inch or two. That’s really all anyone needed from a mask though, generally speaking.

He turned and caught sight of Wade slipping the fabric over his scarred head, the backing undone completely so it wouldn’t chafe aggressively over his skin. Peter noticed that the pattern around his new mask’s eyes was cut to mimic the shapes of the black material found on Wade’s Pileta de Meurto’s design; the fabric titled at a slightly more aggressive angle downwards than usual. The thick piping that bordered the eye sockets was reminiscent of Spider-Man’s heavy outlines, helping to combine a portion of Wade’s design with his own.

Turning to catch a glimpse of Wade in his new mask, Peter saw the same basic shapes from Pileta’s design stitched on Wade’s but at a slight upward angle in contrast to his mask. The area around their mouths was more or less the same, but where a majority of Wade’s mask material was a solid red color, Peter’s had a very familiar webbed design overlaid on top of it.

Peter reached up to run his fingertips over the material appreciatively.

“Whoa,” he gushed, noting the uneven stitches denoting hand sewing. “Who-”

“Just an old friend… him and Al go waaaaaaaaay back.”

“Al?” Peter turned back to Wade, incredulous that he would purposely misspeak about his accomplice. “I thought you said a guy.”

“Al’s not?”

“Phfft,” Peter snorted and rushed over to swat at Wade. “Don’t be a dip, that lady is far too sweet on either of us even though we tear up her gym on the regular.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade chuckled and pulled Peter in for another kiss, this one through the fabric of their masks. “Don’t worry, I sent her a nice gift in exchange for all her help.”

“Good,” Peter relaxed back into Wade’s arms. “So how are we doing this?”

“Glad you asked schmoopsie poo, ‘cuz I’ve got a fabulous idea!”

Peter leaned in close and let Wade tell him the plan.

Fifteen minutes and three more kisses later, Spider-Man and Pileta de Muerto were making their way to the main entrance ramp. Two figures they recognized were waiting for them by the live feed monitors, and for once, Peter wasn’t completely annoyed to see Weasel.

“Augh, what the fuck mangled your beautiful badass mask?”

The annoyance returned in full force.

“Uh, rude,” Wade clicked his tongue. “These are our pair masks, uh-doy, or are you blind AND stupid?”

“Hey, also rude, coming after the visually impaired,” Weasel tsked, reaching up to readjust his owl frame glasses. “I just happen to have a sense of fashion and that hodge-podge currently stuck on your head looks about as charming as Al’s sun-dried face. Forgive me for not wanting to see anything more disgusting than your skin.”

“Love you too, Weas,” Wade laughed and slung a large arm around the smaller man’s weak neck, jerking him playfully back and forth while he screeched. Their actual masks were hidden under the fabric of their new ones, the extra material from Wade’s hood peeking out the bottom inconspicuously.

“Hey Pe- uh, Spidey?” Gwen stepped up to Peter and pulled him in for a hug. “I don’t care what Weasel says, I think you two look amazing, and I know you’re both going to give it your all out there. Just…” she leaned back slowly to look him directly in the eyes. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay? Can you promise me that?”

A smile broke out on his face, but with the new mask on top of his other one, Peter wasn’t sure Gwen could tell. “I promise,” came his muffled reply.

“Good!” She finally let him go and popped back onto her heels. “You’re up next, so give it all you got!”

“Yep! No regrets,” Peter added as the stagehand pointed at his watch and then towards the ramp.

Wade must have released Weasel during Gwen’s hug because he was still ranting about how he and Wade would never be close like that. “We’re bros, not hoes. Don’t even think about touching me with such wicked intent!”

“Pssh, don’t lie. I know you’re dying inside for someone to touch you… even with a stick!”

“Har, har, Deadass, now walk your behind down that ramp and make me some money!”

Wade might have been inclined to argue further, but Peter’s hand was already around his wrist and dragging him over to the entrance.

“We got this,” he told Wade in a stage voice, the two of them waiting for the tell-tale crescendo of their new theme music to rise up. When it did, the lights began to flash and that was their cue. Peter stepped out first, jogging into the center of the stage, waiting for Wade to join him. They put their hands together and raised them in a slow, dramatic fashion. Their display commanded the crowd’s attention, just as Wade had told him it would.

It was all about presence, and Wade made sure to exude it in a way that left no question of how well a trained professional entertainer he had become.

Before they made it to the ramp proper, Peter paused to drop down onto one knee and thrust his arms up in an arc. The technicians had taken time earlier that morning to show them where the planned explosions along the side of the walkway were positioned to avoid injury. Sure enough, four bursts of fire shot up alongside them. Peter couldn’t see Wade, but he was certain that whatever pose Wade was striking behind him must have been good from the cheering of the crowd. Peter pitched his head back and tried not to flinch as sparklers shot off next to him in random bursts lining the ramp. This was all part of the performance of wrestling entertainment and a perfectly normal display for a big title match, but it didn’t mean Peter had ever gotten used to the pyrotechnics loud noises.

When the roar of the flames and sparks died down, he stood up and resumed his walk down towards the ring. Both he and Wade were sure to point at their screaming fans. Spider-Man made his descent down the ramp first, Pileta de Muerto trailing just a hair behind. There was a walk he did, this rhythmic side step that always drew a laugh out of Peter when he saw him do it. Wade did such a good job selling it though, the crowd eating up everything he gave them whenever he pulled out that particular strut.

Peter’s typical go to was a race around the front row seats to slap high-fives with eager spectators who had shelled out the extra cash to get the best experience money could buy. He took off and left Wade behind to continue his slow descent alone. It might have been the buzz of the crowd or maybe it was the fact that Peter was wrestling with the person he trusted in the ring most, but Peter could barely contain the excitement overflowing from him.

As he finished his run, he caught Wade pulling himself up onto the edge of the ring, gesticulating at the audience, calling for their cries. Peter climbed up the metal stairs attached to the corner nearest him and ducked under the ropes to get into the ring. Wade had scaled a corner facing the announcer’s table, so Peter ran to the middle rope and faced the cameras in front of him. Without Wade in the ring, he never would have been so bold. His right foot caught the middle rope, and he used both of his hands to hoist himself up until he was steady enough to sling a leg over the top and pose. Wade had slipped his new mask off his old one and was holding it high for their audience to take him, so Peter did the same.

They took a few more seconds to work up the crowd, drawing their cries higher and higher. Before they got down, a new song kicked on, this one more heroic and patriotic sounding; Shield was finally making their entrance.

Peter readjusted his leg and hopped down from his perch while he watched Wade lay a kiss on his pair mask for audience reactions. He needed to hurry up and hand off his nice new mask and t-shirt to a stagehand before Captain America and the Winter Soldier made their way into the ring. After all, Spider-Man was supposed to be the one starting this match.

As he was peeling off his Pileta de Muerto shirt, Peter turned to steal a glance at Steve stepping onto the stage. Cap still wore his mask for grand entrances despite having lost it to Barnes years ago - he normally took it off before the announcer’s finished introducing the match. Only the most die hard wrestling fans were even aware that Steven Rogers had debuted in [ a maskless role](https://superheroes.fandom.com/wiki/Nomad) for another company prior to joining Modern Marvels. Mask or not, it didn’t matter to Peter. Steve would always be a legend to him.

Attached to his left forearm, Captain America’s infamous shield caught and glinted in the light of the arena. He took a few steps to the left and stopped to wait for his partner to make his appearance. Ever dark and sullen looking, the Winter Soldier stalked out onto the main stage at a controlled pace. He and his partner shared a look, turned back to the audience, and threw their arms up in a flex. The crowd went wild, chanting their team name until it became one constant echo in the arena. Around their waists, the tag team championship belts gleamed.

Peter wrapped his shirt around his new mask and tossed it down on the ground in his and Wade’s corner of the ring. He wasn’t worried. A stagehand or cameraman would be along shortly to pick that up and bag it for safe-keeping. Now shirtless and in his usual attire, Peter set about limbering up. He clapped his hands together and rotated his wrists in a figure eight to warm the joints. Both teams had practiced in the gym once before, but the final results of this match were still secretive, even to Peter and Wade. Only Bucky and Steve knew who was scripted to win so as to make the winner’s reactions more genuine.

The only way Peter and Wade would know who was scripted to win the championships would be through a series of predetermined moves Bucky and Cap both needed to perform during the match. Bucky and Steve were finishing their entrance, turning and feigning a punch at the other that quickly morphed into the world’s greatest fist bump between bros. It was a nod to their old animosity towards one another, now resolved and behind them. They made their way to the opposite side of the ring, Cap unclipping his prop shield and discarding it on the floor outside his corner. Then he and Bucky climbed into the ring, to face Peter and Wade, and proceeded to work up that section of the crowd in their favor.

Peter bounced back and forth lightly, from one foot to the other as the excitement in the arena hit a fever pitch. He watched the announcer stand up from the table and bring the mic up to his lips. This was it, time for the final match.

When the crowd finally died down, the referee and competing teams stepped into the center of the ring. Holding out his hands to receive the titles from Bucky and Steve, the ref took them for safekeeping while the ring-side announcer made the official tag championship statement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is set for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit. It is for the MMW’s tag team championships!”

The crowd erupted in applause.

Continuing on, the announcer introduced both teams. He stated that Pileta de Muerto’s origin was regions unknown and that Spider-Man hailed from New York. None of that was necessarily true, but Peter understood why the company wouldn’t want to disclose their personal information. Each time the announcer finished a sentence, the arena boomed. Peter stopped listening after his own introduction, choosing instead to focus on Wade.

He had stepped out of the ring in between the middle ropes and situated himself alongside the metal support beam of their corner. His hands were still waving, trying to catch any last reaction from the audience he could get, to help encourage his teammate, Spider-Man.

Once all of the announcements were finished, the ref directed both sets of men to their respective corners. He excused himself from the ring with both belts looped around his forearms before the bell rang out, signifying the start of the match. 

Peter rolled his neck over his shoulders and turned around to face Bucky opposite him in the ring. Steve was working the crowd similar to Wade, both of them clearly the more seasoned professionals of their respective teams.

 _Let’s do this,_ Peter thought as he bit his lip and tossed his gloved left hand up in challenge for Bucky to take.

Cool as ever, the Winter Soldier sauntered over to Peter and accepted the offer. His _human_ hand interlocked fingers with Peter and tightened its grip. These sorts of moves were purely for show. Opening grapples were meant to be a preview of the strength each fighter possessed; in reality, they were a quick way for each wrestler to remind themselves of who it was they were working with before things got too physical.

Spider-Man brought up a second hand, and Barnes it took without ever shifting his gaze. His _metal_ arm, a well designed sleeve stitched into his costume, was part of his character’s supposed tragic backstory and responsible for the sporadic feats of super strength that sometimes made an appearance in his matches. Peter feigned being overpowered on his right side as Bucky leaned into him. Before Peter could break the lockup, Barnes kneed him in the gut and transitioned the hold into a headlock. Spider-Man flailed in his grasp but could do little else than allow Bucky to walk them into the closest set of ropes, the ones directly behind him, where his partner was waiting.

Cap reached over the top rope and slapped Bucky’s shoulder for a quick tag in. As soon as Peter heard the sound, he shoved Bucky into the ropes across the ring, Steve was supposed to step in to replace his partner, so Peter had to make sure he timed this just right. He ran after Bucky, stopping short in the middle of the ring as Barnes spun around and bounced off the ropes to turn and charge at Peter.

Spider-Man was known for his high flying abilities, so it was easy for him to vault over Barnes, who nearly crashed head first into his unsuspecting partner now fully in the ring. They made a show of the incident, allowing Peter to catch his bearings while prepping for the next move.

Finally resolving their argument, both Steve and Bucky nodded and linked forearms to rush at Spider-Man for a clothesline that he rolled under, leaving team Shield with no other recourse but to drop their arms and stop themselves before hitting the ropes on the other side of the ring.

Popping back on his feet, Peter spun around in time to see his opponents step forward with their arms ready to catch him. He allowed them to grip him by the elbows and assist him in a forward flip that bounced the back of his legs off the top rope. The move was fast, so he only had a second to react and use the extra momentum the ropes gave him to reverse the hold and pull Steve and Bucky along with him in a double arm drag that sent them tumbling passed him. Peter ate the back bump and sat up as soon as he heard their combined weights slam down on the mat.

The crowd roared at the show of athleticism, and Peter stood up to fist pump his success. Barnes rolled away and back into his team’s corner, leaving Cap all by himself. America’s hero recovered quickly enough and stepped behind Spider-Man to latch onto him with a headlock before he could finish celebrating.

Dropping to their knees, Peter sold the maneuver by flailing his hands, dipping them in between any gaps he could find in Steve’s grip. Cap tugged his neck to the left ever so slightly, the signal that it was time to break it up, and Peter shot upwards, bringing both of them back on their feet. Tightening a gloved fist, Peter repeatedly rammed his elbow into Cap’s side, paying special attention to make the hits look real but always pulling them back at the very last second. Steve was great though, grunting loudly at just the right moment to disguise the lack of contact sounds.

Giving Peter a light squeeze, Steve launched him away and into the ropes opposite where they’d been grappling. The distance was too short for Peter to gain any real speed, so when he turned in the middle, it was only to see Captain America come charging after him. Steve Rogers wasn’t as built as Wade, but the man was still packing some serious muscle under that blue and white spandex.

Spider-Man dropped to the mat, gripping his chest as Cap stepped over him to accept a tag from Bucky. Together they picked Peter up and set him up for a double backwards slam. Cap walked over to Peter’s right side while Barnes moved to his left. They pivoted and hooked both of his arms over the backs of their necks. Gripping onto the waistband of his trunks and the backs of his knees respectively, they hiked him up high, legs kicking, before falling back and slamming all three of them onto the ring’s unforgiving wooden baseboard. The thud resonated throughout the arena and some fans started booing at Shield for ganging up on Spider-Man, who was clearly the smallest contender in the title match. All of them separated and rolled apart. Peter barely made it within striking distance of Wade, who reached down to tag himself in.

Seeing that Pileta de Muerto was now the legal man, Captain American returned to his team’s corner so that Barnes could engage with the new threat in the ring. Rolling out onto the apron, under the bottom rope, Peter used the metal pillar of his ring’s corner to pull himself back to his feet. He needed to sell his injuries, but he also didn’t want to miss what was scripted to happen next.

Wade and Bucky slowly circled each other, menacing in their movements. All the big Pileta fans knew what was coming and so did Barnes if the way he began posturing and gesturing at his chest meant anything. Whatever words were exchanged between the two men were drowned out by the din of the crowd. A round of synchronized claps, slowly increasing in speed, started up until Pileta put a hand up for Barnes to stop what he was doing. The audience caught the gesture and began to quiet down as Wade pointed to each side of the arena, hyping his fans up before their confrontation kicked off.

Wade had brought both of his hands up in the universal signal to wait, and Pileta de Muerto stepped back from the Winter Soldier to reposition himself in a shoulder width stance with both of his knees bent. He reached down to hike up the ornamental belt material around his waist, something new to his costume that helped match him to Spider-Man, and thrust both arms out to the side dramatically. Wade then rotated his right hand inwards, wrist twirling with a showy flourish, and began undoing the velcro clasp of his glove.

Removing the whole glove was something new that he’d only recently started doing with Peter’s encouragement. He still had kinesiology tape on underneath, wound heavily around his wrist and over the top of his hand to help obscure the heaviest of his scars, but this was a big step in Wade proving that he was more comfortable with himself in front of his fans. Using the velcro pull and tugging the glove off inside out, Wade tucked the fingers into the palm and gestured at the referee, who was looked unimpressed behind Barnes.

Pileta nodded once and then pitched his glove, one handed, over the top of his head in a slow arc that the ref followed and caught. Nailing a successful hand-off, both Wade and the audience whooped loudly before turning their mutual attention back onto Barnes. He was standing stock still, ever stoic, in front of Wade. Looking up and down at the Winter Soldier with a calculated gaze, Pileta de Muerto brought his gloveless hand up to his mouth to plant a kiss on the top of his knuckles. He then stepped back on his right foot only to step forward with his left and bring his hand down, open palmed, smack in the middle of Barnes’ chest. Even with a layer of clothing separating skin from skin, the strike was loud. Barnes stumbled back, bringing his right arm up to cradle his latest injury, before recovering enough to wind up and return the attack with one of his own.

He and Wade traded a number of blows, each one very real and painful sounding. Peter had once asked Wade why he liked using this move when it guaranteed that wrestlers had to come in direct contact with one another, and usually, with the same amount of brute strength as it was only fair. Wade had just laughed and told him it got him psyched up during matches, the same way a boxer might shadow box or a pitcher might throw a couple fast balls before they headed to the mound. It reminded him that pain was a part of what they did and that he should always be careful with the folks he worked with.

Around the fourth exchange, Barnes seemed to have had his fill and opted to switch things up by dodging a fifth swing from Wade before grabbing onto his waist and trying to set him up for a suplex. Pileta wasn’t having any of the Winter Soldier’s antics and struggled in his grip until he was able to pry Barnes' human arm away from his body and position him in a rather painful looking wrist lock.

They stayed that way for a minute, Wade wrenching Barnes’ wrist and shoulder at an odd angle while Barnes swatted at the joint to try and alleviate the pressure Wade was forcing on it. Realizing that there was no way he’d be able to force his way out of the hold, Bucky went for the second best strategy, movement. He got himself down on his knees and rolled forward to try and reverse the torque, but Wade readjusted his hold the moment he got wise to Barnes’ strategy. Once Wade locked in the new angle, Barnes swept his legs underneath himself and kicked up to nail Wade in the head with his boot.

Pileta took the hit and dropped Barnes’ wrist immediately while staggering on his feet. Bucky got back up and grabbed one of Wade’s free hands to exact some revenge. Using his own opponent for leverage, the Winter Soldier rammed into him with his metal arm. He repeated the action two more times, each hit visibly wearing down Pileta de Muerto’s defenses until Barnes was able to redirect him and launch him face first into a corner on the opposite side of the ring.

Seeing that he had the other wrestler at his mercy, Bucky jogged over to his teammate and traded him a high-five. Cap stepped into the ring through the middle ropes as Bucky lined his back up in the center of their turnbuckle. He held up his hand for Steve to grab and whip him across the length of the ring so he could shoulder Pileta deeper into the corner.

The men collided and Wade slumped down on the mat. Barnes got up and turned away from him before repositioning himself to face his partner. Steve took off running until he slammed into Bucky, who then used Steve’s momentum to launch him over his head and right onto Pileta de Muerto. Steve did his best to land more on the side of Wade rather than directly on top of him because a pair move like this was hard to estimate where you’d throw your partner without looking at them. The crowd erupted in a series of _oh’s_ and _whoa’s_ as Cap got back to his feet and captured one of Wade’s ankles to tug him out of the corner and into the center of the ring.

Barnes was making his way back out of the ring when Steve hooked his arm under Wade’s leg to go for a pin. The ref slid in and began the count, getting to two, before Wade kicked out violently, knocking Cap far enough away that he could roll towards Peter.

If tagging yourself in was good enough for Shield, then it was good enough for Spider-Man. He reached down to slap Wade’s shoulder before hopping over the ropes and rushing towards Captain America. Rogers had just barely managed to get back on his feet before he had to side step out of the way to avoid getting hit by a rampaging Webslinger.

Peter slammed into the ropes, as planned, and felt Cap grip him solidly on his upper arm to pull him close. Steve’s voice was barely audible, but he still asked all the same.

“Ready?”

Peter stepped back into Cap’s hold, his sign to proceed. Steve transferred his hold on Peter’s arm to wrap around his neck and crouched down to get an arm up and through his legs. He was careful during the lift not to unintentionally rack him, but Peter was especially grateful for the cup all male wrestlers wore. Taking a second to readjust his weight, Cap spun them around as one so that they were facing the center of the ring and slammed Peter face first onto the mat. The wooden base under the tarp shuddered from the force of the powerslam and both men popped up onto their knees, Peter groaning while Cap stood and set for a Charging Star, his signature standing shooting star press.

Steven brought his arms down by his sides and swung them backwards to help counterbalance his backflip to land knees first on Peter. Spider-Man flattened out and allowed Captain American to roll him over and hook a leg for a pin. The ref was there suddenly, palm slapping against the mat and counting _one, two!_ Peter clenched his abdominal muscles and bucked out of the hold. He wasn’t as strong as Wade, so he wasn’t able to completely dislodge Steve. And thankfully, due to Wade’s penchant as a bad guy, he didn’t need to be because Pileta de Muerto tackled Cap off him no more than a second later.

Peter struggled to his feet, gripping the ropes for support as he watched Wade spin Steve Rogers around and shove his head down in between his legs. Wade’s arms threaded themselves through Steve’s and his large hands came to rest on the backs of Cap’s spandex covered thighs. Seeing that his grip was good, Wade dropped down into a modified pile driver making sure to protect Steve’s neck using the stronger muscles of his legs.

When he released Cap, the man rolled out of his hold limply. It was a great chance for Wade to drag him into a corner opposite Peter’s position and prop him up for some revenge. He whistled loudly through his mask, and Peter hurried to scramble to his feet. Wade’s interference had given him a chance to recover, after all. He could do this.

He watched as Pileta de Muerto dropped down onto his hands and knees, shoulders squared evenly to support whatever weight might be coming, and Spider-Man took the offering. He ran out of the corner and leapt up to vault off of Wade’s back as a makeshift platform to flip right onto Captain America in a mockery of the same move Barnes had used to pitch his partner onto Wade. Peter’s landing wasn’t as clean as Cap’s, but this was only the fifth or sixth time he’d ever gotten a chance to perform it. One day, practice _would_ make perfect.

Whether it hurt or not, Steve didn’t say and slid down further until he was flat against the mat. Now it was Wade’s turn to yank him bodily out of the corner to a spattering of laughter from the crowd at the turn of events. Peter saw himself back to Dos Rojos’ corner of the ring, glancing over his shoulder in time to catch Wade attempt a weak pin on Rogers. He had just gotten on the outside of the ropes when he saw Steve kick out before the three count.

Wade, projecting his frustration onto Cap, stood up and moved his hold to the backs of Caps shoes in a move very familiar to Peter; one he had once had the great misfortune of being on the receiving end of. Stepping through his spread legs, Wade rearranged Captain America over his thigh and brought his hands down to keep the lock in place as he turned around to seat himself primly on America’s ass in a sharp shooter.

Steve's discomfort was instantly evident, his hands failing to find purchase on the smooth floor of the ring as Pileta de Muerto sat back further and wrenched his opponent's legs higher still. Once this move was solidly in place, there was little else a wrestler could do to get out of it other than break the hold through a referee mandated order or outside interference. Bucky was trying to step in to help his partner, but the referee had caught him sneaking under a rope without a proper tag.

Forced to choose the first option, Captain America army crawled his way to the ropes, struggling as Pileta de Muerto continued to adjust the hold while they moved. Wade managed to delay the release only a couple of seconds more by slowing Cap down but ultimately failed when Steve finally grabbed ahold of the bottom rope in front of himself.

Seeing Rogers with a hand on the nylon rope, the ref forgot about Barnes and rushed to count to the customary three before he told Pileta to release the submission. He would have gladly done so, but Bucky chose that exact moment to sneak behind the ref and give Wade a punch to the side of his head. Wade toppled over backwards, landing clumsily on his shoulder since his legs were still caught up in Rogers’.

The Winter Soldier leaned down to heft his partner up and clapped Steve on the back. He raced to the corner opposite Peter to scale it, seating himself in position while Cap helped stand a dazed Wade back on his feet. It was easy for Steve to shove Wade staggering in the direction of his waiting teammate. When Pileta de Muerto got within striking distance, Bucky surged forward with his knees tucked up to his chest. He used both of his hands to grab onto the back of Wade’s neck and tipped them backwards onto the mat, giving Wade a painful looking facebreaker.

They bounced off the ring hard, and Bucky relinquished Wade to roll away and stand up. Both Bucky and Cap were now closing in on Wade even though only one of them should be facing him. When Peter realized that legal tagging was no longer a requirement, he tossed caution to the wind and crept up onto the top rope.

Each member of Shield grabbed one of Wade’s legs and began to drag him back towards the center of the ring, but the way in which they’d positioned themselves gave Spider-Man an opportunity to leap from his perch and slam into their backs with a double drop kick. Wade and Cap took the opportunity to roll themselves out of the ring and onto the apron.

Peter watched from his position on the floor as Wade and Steve stood up and faced one another, eventually coming to blows with Captain America throwing out punches for each low kick Pileta de Muerto deigned to give him. He didn’t get the chance to see how that ended, though, because Bucky was up and on him in a matter of seconds. The Winter Soldier hauled him into the middle of the ring. Just as his partner was laying into Wade, Bucky issued a flurry of punches using his metal arm meant to weaken Spider-Man.

Selling the hits, Peter fell into Bucky and allowed him to shove Spider-Man in the direction of where Wade and Cap had managed to knock each other back down on the apron. They were separated far enough apart that Peter could safely jump, feet first, through the ropes and grab ahold of the middle and top ones, using all of his upper body strength to catch himself. He had to slow the momentum of the move by swinging his legs out and over the edge of the ring. Once he came to a stop, he set both feet down on the apron’s ledge and stood up to face a charging Bucky Barnes.

Pulling out one of the Webslinger’s more well-known moves, Peter gripped the top rope with his left hand so he could kick his right leg up and over to catch the Winter Soldier right in the face. He made sure to slap the skin of his thigh hard to ensure the audience believed the attack was powerful enough to daze Barnes.

Bucky stumbled and fell on his backside, granting Peter enough of a reprieve that he could drop to his elbows and knees along the edge of the ring for Wade to pull off the most difficult move of the evening. Depending on how Cap recovered from this, they’d decide whether or not to keep going with the match or to end it early. This was one of the first signals they needed to receive from team Shield.

Thus far, neither of them had made the company’s scripted intentions for the end of this match clear.

Peter felt the ring shake beneath him and gave Cap one last look in sympathy as he pulled himself up before squeezing his eyes shut and hoping for the best. Pileta de Muerto’s foot landed on the small of his back, the weight of Wade intense and almost painful in that one moment, before he leapt off Peter and dove over Captain America. His arms locked around Steve’s waist as he somersaulted them through a sunset flip that transitioned into a more difficult Canadian destroyer. Wade completed the full 180 degree maneuver in front of their screaming fans flawlessly.

The resounding thud of two bodies hitting the edge of the ring made Peter grit his teeth and wince. Wade had offered to show him how to perform that move once before, but Peter had declined. There were still some things he didn’t feel comfortable with in wrestling and if he could severely hurt another performer doing a move, Peter would rather not know it in the first place. 

Hurting only himself while doing something risky, on the other hand, was different.

Cap slid off the apron, and Wade would have, too, had Peter not gotten up to catch his hand and pull him back into the ring. Together, they crawled under the bottom rope to take care of Bucky. He was just standing up as they double teamed him; Peter throwing an elbow into his chest while Wade gut punched him, causing him to lurch forward, heavy in their hands.

From there, Pileta directed Spider-Man to climb the nearest corner of the ring as he set Bucky up in the exact same modified piledriver that he’d given to Cap earlier. Peter did as he was directed, and scaled the ropes quickly. He was waiting for Wade to turn Bucky towards him. As soon as they were both in position, Peter stood up and launched himself straight up to stomp on the backs of Bucky’s thighs to help Wade complete his piledriver spike. Once Peter was off of him, Wade dropped down to finish the move.

Peter turned to catch sight of Cap standing up outside the ring. That was the first sign that Cap was willing to allow Peter and Wade to claim the titles. As per their agreement, Peter didn’t even allow himself the chance to hesitate. He ran to push off the ropes in front of him, using the energy it gave him to race to the other side and repeat the process, doubling his force and allowing the inertia to carry him as he vaulted over the top rope and flipped mid-air onto Cap’s shoulder.

He must have miscalculated somewhere because he sailed further than planned, causing Steve to stumble back while trying to catch him. They crashed into one of the barriers separating the wrestlers from the audience. Peter spilled off Cap and right into the lap of a front row fan who was screaming loudly, not in fear but in delight.

“I- I’m so sorry!” Peter garbled out, checking her over quickly to make sure she wasn’t hurt. As his gloved hands roved along the outside of her person, she squealed with joy. That was definitely not the response he’d imagined from a person who had just gotten mixed up in a botch would display, but he was grateful nonetheless.

No one was hurt and that’s what mattered. He leaned forward to give her a quick hug before standing up and hefting himself back over the barricade to check on Cap.

Steve was motionless on the ground, his chest rising and falling in double time as he attempted to catch his breath. He’d taken quite a beating at the hands of Wade and Peter but a quick, _are you alright,_ was answered with a discreet nod.

Peter would have offered to help him back up had Pileta de Muerto not hopped out of the ring to check on Spider-Man himself.

“Holy fuck nuggets! You flew!” Wade wheezed, grabbing Peter’s arm and lifting him to his feet. Peter found he could only nod as Wade directed him back into the ring where Bucky was waiting. With one last lingering gaze over his shoulder at a thoroughly trounced Cap, Peter began the slow climb back into the ring. His muscles were burning with fatigue, but they needed to finish this match. The only way they’d know how it would end now was if Bucky also gave them the go ahead by completing a series of moves that they’d agreed upon earlier.

As soon as Peter stood up, Bucky ran forward and caught him with a punch to the chest. Wade grabbed onto the top rope, about to retaliate, but Bucky was faster and got him, too. Peter tumbled through middle ropes whereas Wade gracelessly flung himself over the top and landed on the mat with a loud thud.

Seeing a chance to gain the upper hand, Bucky yanked Peter up by his arm and hurled him into the corner directly behind him. Wade was slower to recover. He was picked up by the back of his neck and herded into a corner opposite Peter. Bucky then used the distance he’d created between the two of them to charge at Peter for a shoulder smash that got cut short when Peter kicked up his foot to catch Barnes in the face. Peter lowered his leg and took a moment to gauge his opponent’s reaction. Instead of being stunned, Barnes surged forward again, the signal for Peter to come meet him halfway.

Peter thrust himself out of the corner of the ring and leapt on both feet to allow Bucky to heft him up in an overhead lift.

He tensed all of his muscles to stiffen up like a board. The more you struggled in this kind of position, the greater the likelihood your opponent might prematurely drop you. Pileta de Muerto rushed to get up from the corner and save his teammate. Neither of them was prepared for the Winter Soldier dumping Spider-Man behind himself and then taking off to stop Pileta’s advances in a spear tackle. Peter bounced off the mat, and he hissed in pain. At least he hadn’t bitten his tongue this time, instead getting his elbows into place before he landed.

Attempting to refocus on the match, Peter turned to watch Barnes boot Wade over to an empty side of the ring and turn to stalk back over towards him. This was going to be the telling moment. If Bucky completed only two suplexes, then that meant the writers had scripted Peter and Wade to take the win. If he opted to do three in a row, however, Peter and Wade would have to throw the match or fear further repercussions from upper management.

Bucky kneeled down in front of Peter and tugged him up on his feet. “Brace yourself,” he warned before hugging Peter close and giving him a chance to throw his arms over Bucky’s shoulder while he secured his own hold on Peter using the waistband of his shorts.

He tipped back with a curve to his spine as he dropped Peter flat on his back in the first of a series of German suplexes. Arching up into a bridge, Barnes kicked over Peter, using him as a counterweight to balance himself and set them up for a second German suplex. Peter saw his world tilt then spin before he was slammed back down into the mat again. If Bucky floated over Peter one more time, then a third suplex was coming and he would know to not get back up. But when Barnes released him, Peter’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Was he really…? He twisted his head on the mat, breath coming out in heavy pants as he watched Bucky stomp over towards Wade only to catch a sling blade around the neck.

As they landed, facing opposite directions with Wade’s left arm still within reach of Bucky, Wade motioned for Peter to get up and meet him in the center to finish their contest. He must have been counting the suplexes as well.

The finish line was nearly in sight.

Wade made sure to keep Barnes swaying upright with a swift kick to the upper back as Peter stood on shaky feet and waited for Wade’s cue. Pileta de Muerto raised one hand high while looking out at the audience. They joined Dos Rojos in the count, Peter the loudest of all.

Uno.

Dos.

Tres!

Both wrestlers rushed forward to each give Bucky a super kick to the side of his head, finally toppling him over in between them.

It was at that moment that Cap decided to make a reappearance in the ring, having stealthily climbed up behind Wade. Only Peter was aware of his presence and went to catch him with another high kick but ended up nailing his partner instead as Cap dodged at the very last second. Wade fell over next to Bucky and before Peter could turn to check on him, Cap had grabbed hold of him and was repositioning him upside down and onto his knee for a backbreaker.

The audience, who’s initially been shocked by Spider-Man’s mistake reacted positively in response to Cap’s return as he moved to help his partner back to his feet.

Squirming around in the ring due to the _pain_ of Captain America’s attack, Peter was helpless to watch as both men gathered Wade up to send him into the ropes for Bucky to perform a reverse DDT on his rebound. Shield then attempted to make the best of their second wind and simultaneously moved to pin Dos Rojos, Bucky on Wade and Steve on Peter. They made it a hair before the third count, much to the crowd’s awe and dismay.

In retaliation for their insolence, Cap and Bucky chose to focus on Wade and scooped him up off the mat to send into a far away corner. Wade’s back slammed into the padded turnbuckle hard, and he gripped the ropes connected to it to prevent himself from slumping over.

Now that Wade was where they wanted him, Cap and Bucky turned their focus back onto Peter. They peeled him off the mat and revved up to whip him across the ring, right into his partner. But instead of colliding with one another, Wade reacted fast enough to stop and catch him. Peter pressed off the mat on the balls of his feet and allowed Wade to lift and place him up in a seated position atop the corner of the ring.

Even if Spider-Man had made an error and unintentionally harmed his teammate, Pileta de Muerto would never have allowed injury to come to him if it could be helped. They’d talked about the other kinds of accidental botches they could perform in front of the crowd at length, but Wade was adamant about never hurting Peter unless it was absolutely necessary. If even only for show, it didn’t matter to him, especially not after their last match with the Avengers.

Peter could hear Wade’s harsh breaths through the material of his mask; his chest heavily rising and falling from all of the effort they’d exerted just to make it this far. _Only a little more,_ Peter told himself and watched as Wade intercepted a charging Captain America with a powerful super kick. He then ducked out of the way, making way for Peter, who was waiting for Bucky to rush him next.

Spider-Man flew off and caught Barnes around the neck in one of his famous hurricanranas. He landed perfectly on Bucky’s shoulders, locked his lower legs in a crossed position, and swung his weight down to pitch them over towards the edge of the ring. When they finally crashed into the mat, Bucky rolled out under the bottom rope.

Standing up to face Wade, who was still stomping Cap in the center of the ring, Peter tapped him on the shoulder and held up a hand, wordlessly asking for assistance. Bucky was just standing up outside the ring, and it would only be a matter of time before he interfered with their win again. Best to remove him from the equation if Peter felt he could do so, and it would make for a great finale.

Wade paused mid-kick, his expression under the mask difficult to discern. They’d only practiced this set-up a handful of times but had never actually used it in front of a live audience before.

“We can... do this,” Peter got out in huffs, raising his hand higher with conviction. Wade could only nod as he clapped their hands together, fingers interlaced, so that Peter could use his arm to steady himself. They raced over to the corner closest to Barnes, who was now standing on his feet.

Before he could let the more logical part of his brain talk him out of doing it, Peter leapt up to scale the ropes like a parkour pro. When he got to the top rope, Wade let go of his hand so that he could hurl himself off in a corkscrew press that Bucky was waiting to catch. They crashed into one another and landed heavily on the thin black mats lining the outside of the ring.

It wasn’t exactly soft, but it wasn’t as bad as hitting solid concrete.

Peter could hear the audience screaming, not just from his last move but from whatever else Wade was doing in the ring. As Peter rolled off of his opponent to get a better look. He caught a glimpse of Wade kneeling down in the ring with Steve’s legs bent under his arms. Cap’s head and shoulders were twisted at an uncomfortable angle against the mat as Pileta brought a knee down to rest on the back of Rogers’ neck. Wade threw his head back as he torqued the position, bending Cap’s back at an even more impossible angle while his hand slammed repeatedly on the mat in surrender. The ref had barely made the call when the announcer’s bell rang out.

They’d done it.

Dos Rojos had won by submission.

Peter couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that bubbled out of him. The crowd roared with thunderous applause, and Peter stood up to see Wade waiting for him in the center of the ring now that he’d released Cap.

After double checking that Bucky was all right, Peter wandered back to the edge of the ring to catch Captain America shaking Pileta de Muerto’s hand in a show of good sportsmanship. Cap saw himself out just as Peter entered, right behind the announcer blaring their win loud and proud over the speakers.

“Ladies and Gentleman, please congratulate your new MMW tag team champions, Dos Rojos, Pileta de Muerto and Spider-Man!”

A heavy leather belt was suddenly shoved at him and the referee was raising both of their free hands high into the air for the crowd to see. Before the announcer could seat himself back behind the announcer’s table, Wade gestured for the microphone still in his hand. Not sure of where the moment might go, but willing to allow some improv now and again, the guy walked over to the the ring and relinquished control of the mic to Wade without complaint.

Pileta de Muerto shot a hand up, requesting silence from their audience, and brought the receiver right up against the cloth of his mask. Ragged breathing echoed in the arena as he steadied himself with a couple deep breaths. All the noise died down quickly because Pileta de Muerto rarely ever spoke on camera.

“Spider-Man,” he said, eyes fixed on his red and blue tag partner. Wade gestured at him with his new championship belt. “I’m here, right now, holding this because of you. When no one believed that I was capable of doing good, you saw something better in me.”

The audience broke out in a smattering of applause as Peter nodded his head along in acknowledgement, tightening his hold on his own belt.

“And that’s why this mask, my loyalty, all of it is yours… for as long as you’ll have me.”

It almost sounded like a marriage proposal, and Peter had to steel himself from shaking with nerves as he stepped up to offer Wade a hug. It was something they’d never done in front of their fans before but felt like the right thing to do.

As soon as Peter was less than a foot away, he watched Wade pitch the mic and his belt carelessly off to the side before reaching out to yank Peter even closer. Spider-Man’s new tag-team title slipped out of shocked fingers, and he watched Wade reach up to lift the bottom of his mask just high enough to reveal that smile Peter loved seeing so much.

No one else existed outside of the two of them in that moment.

“You’re the best thing I could have ever asked for,” Wade told Peter sincerely, barely audible over the crowd’s rowdy hoots and hollers.

“In _and_ out of the ring,” Wade smirked before he pulled Peter in for a kiss.  
  


* * *


End file.
